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Atavar 


Books by ARTHUR B. REEVE 


Ata/var 

Craig Kennedy Listens In 
The Adventuress 
Constance Dunlap 
The Dream Doctor 
The Ear in the Wall 
The Exploits of Elaine 
The Film Mystery 
Gold of the Gods 
Guy Garrick 
The Panama Plot 
The Poisoned Pen 
The Romance of Elaine 
The Silent Bullet 
The Social Gangster 
The Soul Scar 
The Treasure Train 
The War Terror 


HARPER & BROTHERS 

PUBLISHERS 




ATAVAR 

A CRAIG KENNEDY NOVEL 


ARTHUR Rf^EEVE 

AUTHOR OF “CRAIG KENNEDY LISTENS IN” AND 
OTHER CRAIG KENNEDY NOVELS 



HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS 
NEW YORK AND LONDON 



ATAVAR 

Copyright, 1924 
Bj" Harper & Brothers 
Printed in the U. S. A. 

First Edition 

C-Y 


MAY 15'2^ 

©C1A792445 

Ve I 




Now, was I horn of womankind and laid in a 
mother's breast? 

For r have dreamed of a shaggy hide whereon I 
went to rest! 

And was I horn of womankind and laid on a father's 
arm? 

For I have dreamed of long white teeth that guarded 
me from harm! 

Oh, was I horn of womankind and did I play alone? 

For I have dreamed of playmates twain that hit me 
to the bone! 


—Kipunq, "T/ie Only Son.’ 




CONTENTS 


PROLOGUE 


PAGE 

Shadows 3 

PART I 

CHAPTER 

I Desire 13 

II The Dream Dancer 26 

III Conflict ' 42 

IV The Spectacle 65 

V The Crime 82 

PART II 

VI Facts 103 

VII Motives 120 

VIII Clews 129 

IX Libido 133 

^ PART III 

X Money Power 181 

XI Gold and the Girl 206 

XII Passion 234 




CONTENTS 


CHAPTER 

XIII 

Flight 

PART IV 

PAGE 

266 

XIV 

Pursuit 


295 

XV 

Capture 

EPILOGUE 

813 


Recessive 

Love 

857 


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ATAVAR 


PROLOGUE 

SHADOWS 

^What more could one want than we have be¬ 
fore us?^^ With a sweep of the arm Kennedy in¬ 
cluded the gloriously moonlit heaven, the wide 
expanse of ever-restless sea, and all about the 
fragrant perfume of roses blended with the night 
smell of sod beneath us and the whiff of salt from 
the sea. 

In my easy beach chair I lolled back, stretched 
my legs indolently, shifted my pipe, then plunged 
my hands into my pockets as I grinned at Craig. 

^‘A girl,^^ I shot back tersely. 

Craig laughed. He drew back one arm in a feint 
as if he would knock me for a sea-goal, then 
laughed again. ^Well, I think I could be happier, 
too, with a case to think about.’^ 

‘^A case of what? There’s enough of everything 
here in the Bahamas—at the right price, too! . . . 
A case! Like a cow with a cud! . . .You should 
have brought a crime along—to chew on!” I 
paused and surveyed what the sweep of his arm had 
indicated. ^‘Craig, it is great! The night seems so 
quiet and peaceful—almost as if nothing could dis¬ 
turb its placidity. You would scarcely think that 
gentle rolling surface of water under the moon 
3 


4 


ATAVAR 


could be the same whose towering waves washed 
our deck in the storm when we were coming down.” 

^^Or may wash it again only a few hours after we 
start back tomorrow!” 

We were silent for a few minutes. From the ball¬ 
room of the hotel the gentle strains of a slow and 
languorous waltz were wafted gently toward us. 
At least there seemed perfect content about us. 

I suggested that we take a little stroll through 
the hotel gardens, which were terraced down to the 
beach. Walls and borders of walks were a riot of 
roses. Little graded slopes covered with honey¬ 
suckle arrested attention by their sweetness. 

Suddenly, darting ahead of us, crossing our path 
in the silvery moonhght, we saw a snake flash out 
and disappear in the shrubbery. Only the moon¬ 
light shimmering bright on its white belly indicated 
the direction of its travel. 

“Every Eden seems to have its snake, too!” I 
exclaimed. 

“Is that the best you can do?” chided Craig. 

We neared the steps to the beach. He stopped. 
“Sh-h! I hear voices—quarreling. ... I think I 
recognize one. . . . What is it about?” 

In a bower we paused. It was soon that we got 
our answer, violent oaths, daring threats answered 
in the cool, cutting accents of a man of cultivation 
who held himself down even in his moments of 
anger. 

One did not have to go far in Nassau or any¬ 
where else in the Bahamas to hear something about 
rum-running. This was no exception. But there 
was more than that to it, far more. 


ATAVAR 


o 


“It’s Roger Gerard/’ Craig whispered, “I 
thought I recognized the voice.” 

I nodded as I identified the smooth accent of a 
classmate at the university whom we had both 
loved. 

“If one thing happens to that girl—if her future 
happiness is blasted—in any way—^by you, Haw- 
trey, my greatest pleasure will be going to the chair 
for shooting you down for the dog that you are! 
I am not afraid of you—and I love her!” 

A laugh and a countering oath was the only reply 
of the man addressed as Hawtrey. 

“I’ll tell you right now, I know about the trip 
planned for to-morrow to the cave on Sea Isle. My 
ultimatum is: I am going with you! I am not 
afraid of you—^but I am afraid for Natalie!” 

Suddenly it seemed by a crackling of driftwood 
that Hawtrey had aimed a blow at Roger, but that 
the other had adroitly dodged it. “You’ll not go! 
I’ll break your damned head for you!” 

Roger had swung himself into position, it seemed, 
to retaliate, and Kennedy was nudging me to be 
ready to leap out in case of need, when a girl, a 
slim creature of fairy lightness, a bit of thistledown, 
glided down the terrace steps so quickly and so 
lightly that we had no chance to see her face, only 
a crown of golden hair and the scent of violets, as 
she whisked past us in the shadow of the shrubs. 

She stood lightly poised on the bottom steps and 
called sharply, “Roger! Guy! What does this 
mean?” 

Roger Gerard took a quick step toward her and 
bowed. But Hawtrey took her arm even as Roger 
was bowing. For a moment, from his action, one 


6 ATAVAR 

might have thought he was going to run away with 
her. 

We could not see the girl’s face, but for a second 
it was apparent that she encouraged Hawtrey’s 
tenderness to her, as if she felt the spell of his 
strength. But when Roger looked at her, with 
his soul in his voice and in his eyes, she seemed 
to lean then toward him for protection. 

“Let me go with you to the cave to-morrow, 
Natalie.” Roger was persuasive, deferential, eager. 
He swallowed hard, it seemed, as he added, “Haw- 
trey will be a sport—and let me join your party— 
if you say so.” 

“Surely! I want you in the party, Roger!” The 
girl said it promptly. But was there an uncon¬ 
scious ring of disappointment in the voice, as of 
one who invites his conscience to accompany him? 

There was a sentence or two with Hawtrey as he 
smothered his resentment and agreed. Then I 
heard him again, always in the lead of the other 
fellow. 

“Oh, Natalie ... I have these little spurs, 
golden spurs, to give you . . . just a reminder of 
these happy hours since we have been here to-day— 
and of others to come. I bought them at that little 
curio shop in the town on the island. They are 
very unusual and you are a very unusual girl. 
What could be more fitting?” 

I could just make out that with a tender laugh 
Hawtrey was passing a little case to Natalie. 

“There are three of them—clasps for the ribbons 
on your shoulders. . . . Allow me.” I could 
imagine the mocking look at Roger’s face as Haw¬ 
trey stepped forward and gently fastened them in 


ATAVAR 


7 


the laces on Nat aliens shoulders. When his fingers 
had finished the task they lingered, lovingly. For 
Roger moved suddenly and Hawtrey resumed his 
old position. 

^There! There are two of them. The third— 
may I keep, myself—wear myself , , , 

Natalie acquiesced. 

‘‘How did you know I was here?’’ asked Roger of 
her. 

“I inquired when I missed you. One of the 
waiters told me you had been hunting for Mr. 
Hawtrey since dinner. ... So I came along, 
too.” 

She leaned forward and slipped a little hand 
through the arm of Roger and Hawtrey, on either 
side, and led them back up the slope to the hotel, 
chatting excitedly about the trip to the pirates’ 
cave on the morrow—the morrow when we should 
be on our way back to the States on the very boat 
that had brought them down. 

As Craig and I stood there alone, the voices dying 
out in the distance, I remarked, “Well, it may have 
been a bromide about the snake in Eden—but if I 
am any judge that man Hawtrey is the snake in 
the love garden of that little girl’s heart!” 

Craig continued looking after them. “Did you 
notice how she thrilled when they were talking 
about that cave on Sea Isle^—and her remark that 
tradition associated it with one of her ancestors in 
the days of the Spanish Main? Love garden of her 
heart . . . That little girl suffers from recessive 
love. . . 

“Recessive?” I repeated. 

“Recessive—is a character,” he answered, slowly. 


8 ATAVAR 

^'that goes back through a dominant strain to an 
ancestor/' 

We stood looking down the shore. In the distant 
town, along the wharves I could hear activity, ac¬ 
tivity that recalled the earlier remarks we had over¬ 
heard, of the rum-running, the great industry now 
of the islands. 

The night, the air, the sea, had put Kennedy into 
the mood of moralizing. 

‘The last generation was better than this—just as 
this will be better than the next!" 

He waited for me to attempt to controvert him, 
but I knew better. He went on, “For the simple 
reason that our society is crumbling under the very 
weight of civilization. Science is great. But it 
makes a few great. It crushes the many. Why? 
Because the many cannot keep their simplicity of 
self in the complexity of things! . . . Think that 
over again. ... All the luxury of civilization does 
not make the one thing needful—character!" 

“They are trying hard enough to make character 
—in the way that they see it," I returned, indicating 
the sounds that had been reminiscent of rum-run¬ 
ning. “True, they now say: Give us twenty years 
to do it. Might not the reformers save your civiliza¬ 
tion—if they were let alone?" 

Kennedy shook his head slowly and ominously. 
“Really, Walter, I have the greatest sympathy for 
the misguided iDlue-law reformer. Vaguely he is 
striving for a very admirable object. Unfortunately, 
though, neo-Puritanism is feeding the flame of the 
very fire it endeavors to quench. See! They tried 
to force on us prohibition. They have given us 
rum-running. . . . They have sat on the safety- 


ATAVAR 9 

valve. . . . And the boiler is at high pressure . . . 
trembling ... on the point of explosion . . 

The music from the hotel was wafted down to us 
again. I could see in my mind’s eye the dance 
floor—and the girl—with the two men. 

Kennedy has an uncanny deductive faculty of 
reading one’s thoughts, sometimes. He seemed to 
continue where he left off. 

^There are the seeds of tragedy in the life of a 
girl who can stir the passions of men hke that!” 




Part I 


( % 



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A 


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CHAPTER I 


DESIRE 

“What's your reaction on the dance craze, Ken¬ 
nedy?" 

“Why—I can take it—and I can leave it alone, 
Roger—just hke Scotch and lobster Newburgh— 
and love. Now, you take Walter, here, he special¬ 
izes in all four. Ask him; he knows." 

Roger Gerard smiled half quizzically at Craig, 
half seriously at me, and waited, until I felt it 
incumbent at least to say something although I saw 
that it was Craig whom Roger was leading. 

“Reaction? Dance craze?" I repeated. “Oh, I. 
think the dance craze is just like prohibition . . . 
and suffrage . . . and censorship . . . and short 
skirts—just another way in which the female half of 
the population is trying to rule the male half." 

Gerard smiled. But he didn't come back. He 
fussed with his synthetic rickey. Once he shot a 
covert glance at Kennedy, then fell to squeezing the 
very oil out of the skin of half a lime. I felt that 
somehow I had struck a “complex" in the psycho¬ 
analyst himself. But just what it was I didn't 
know. 

We were lolling in the library of the old Gerard 
house on the west side of Washington Square where 
the outposts of Greenwich Village make contact 
with the relics of retreating aristocracy of a past 
13 


14 


ATAVAR 


generation. Roger Gerard had been a classmate of 
ours at the university. 

The library was the show spot of the mansion. 
All around three sides of the walls, except where 
leaded-glass windows cut in, were shelves filled with 
rare sets and first editions, tomes of science and art 
collected for well over a century. I had never seen 
a finer library in a private collection. 

The library was high ceilinged and great care had 
been taken with the fighting. On the wall over to 
one side of the huge fireplace at the end of the room 
seemed placed a bank of fights under the molding 
and projecting out a little way from it. The fights 
were off. Under them hung in soft folds a drapery 
of black velvet. It reached to the baseboard and 
seemed to be the only really somber object in the 
room. I wondered what it was and I saw that it 
also aroused Craig^s curiosity. 

A few wonderfully carved ivories and exquisite 
pieces in bronze were the only ornaments. The glow 
from the fireplace, the rich coloring of the rugs, and 
the leather and gilt bindings of some of the books 
lent a subdued brightness to the room that was in 
keeping with its suggested quietness and elegance. 

A davenport was drawn up before the fireplace 
and its appeal had been irresistible to me. The 
chairs were easy and made for a man to use. Ken¬ 
nedy sprawled in intellectual laziness in one just 
diagonally across the end of the wide fireplace from 
the davenport. Gerard stood leaning against the 
other side of the fireplace. The butler had just set 
down a tinkling tray on a tabouret between Ken¬ 
nedy and myself. 

^What a difference in a few years remarked 


ATAVAR 


15 


Roger, contemplatively, as his eyes roved to his 
diploma framed over one bookshelf. ^^Here's Craig, 
our leading criminologist, Walter, our journalist, and 
Roger, more or less dilettante doctor and psycho¬ 
analyst. If I were class prophet again I suppose 
I would psychoanalyze all the fellows—Kennedy, 
the man hunter—paleolithic type. . . . Jameson, 
artistic, of the neolithic. . . 

^^Gerard . . . neolithic also . . . Nordic . .. blond 
. . . dolichocephalic,^’ supplied Kennedy. 

Roger smiled. ^‘Neolithic, yes ... an old bone- 
scratcher from the cave-art days; . . . old saw¬ 
bones. Well, you see, in this house my father had 
been a doctor when the old university was down 
here across the square, and my grandfather an artist 
and writer. So I took up medicine—finally the med¬ 
icine of the mind, the new psychology. It seemed 
to offer the only hope of solving the problem of 
Natalie’s nature.” He was rambling on abstractedly. 

^^I felt that you were leading up to something.” 

Roger drew himself up sharply. ^‘Yes . . . per¬ 
haps . . . my real reason for renewing the friend¬ 
ship, Kennedy, at this time . . . one of my cases. 
It has to do with Natalie Lisle, the little solo dancer 
who is to appear in the great spectacle, ‘Astarte’ at 
the American Opera.” 

He was speaking rapidly, emotion suppressed. 
^Wou know, or perhaps you don’t know, her father 
and mine were old cronies—^had adjoining estates up 
in Dutchess County before the plebeian rush to the 
country set in. Natalie and I were brought up 
together.” 

Gerard paused and contemplated a dwindling cube 
of ice in his glass, turning it around and around. Then 


16 ATAVAR . 

with a carelessness of manner he was far from 
feeling he set the glass on the carved mantelshelf 
over the fire, brushed some cigar ashes from his coat, 
and finally took a quiet step or two toward the vel¬ 
vet hanging almost directly in front of Kennedy. 
As if steeling himself to do so, he deliberately pulled 
aside the velvet hanging with one hand as the other 
fumbled for the switch that controlled the little bank 
of light overhead. 

Head well back, a rapt expression on his face, he 
stood before a life-sized painting of a very beautiful 
girl. In the soft light there was magical depth and 
definition at once, almost stereoscopic. 

Turning quickly, Roger shot out, 'There is my 
future happiness ... or hell, Kennedy! I have 
lived for her ... I have studied for her. ... I 
would die for her. ... If I don’t solve her problem 
soon her happiness may be wrecked. Do you notice 
anything about this portrait that is unusual?” 

"Tell me first who painted it. It is a gem.” 
Craig was plainly excited as he rose and fingered 
the velvet drapery which Roger had lifted from the 
picture while he studied the face. 

"I did . . . in odd moments from memory and a 
few sketches I have. I’ll show you those later. You 
know, fellows, I paint when I am tired.” Sadly 
smiling. "She doesn’t know. She wouldn’t allow 
it. She has never sat for me . . . consciously. I 
have stolen the sketches at odd moments . . . and 
my heart has given me the rest. Look at it again, 
Craig. Tell me what you see in the face.” He was 
almost pleading. "Never mind the art value of it. 
I would never part with it, of course. It is priceless 
to me. And it is only because I am in dire need 


ATAVAR 


17 


of help for her that I show it—even to such good 
friends as you and Walter.’’ 

^What do I see in the face of that girl?” repeated 
Craig. “I see desire . . . for love . . . for happi¬ 
ness. There’s a witchery of feature, a yearning ex¬ 
pression of the eyes that the flapper to-day does not 
have. There is no sham in those eyes. She is all 
girl. . . . But, Roger, I see a haunting fear, a 
strange wonder and terror in one so young. Did 
you put it there ... or is it there, really? Is she 
in trouble?” 

''Yes—and if we don’t help her soon, she will be 
in more. Yes, I put it there ... I mean, I tried 
to portray it. It is really there ... at times. . . . 
My God, Kennedy, if I ever needed your friendship, 
I need it now!” He clutched Craig’s shoulder. 

Kennedy studied the face. Rebellious curls steal¬ 
ing over a perfect oval contour[. Lips slightly 
parted, revealing teeth of pearly white. 

"She has a temper, hasn’t she, Roger—and tem¬ 
perament?” 

<‘Yes —at times she has the temper of a tigress 
... at times ... at times . . . mostly in the night¬ 
time . . . temper and temperament, yes. Craig, 
that is the problem. Listen.” 

He let go the velvet folds and paced back and 
forth across the broad tiled hearth, speaking in a 
low tense tone. 

"I have studied the question of dual personality 
probably more profoundly than any of a half dozen 
of the leading specialists in that intricate and mys¬ 
terious psychological field. . . . But . . . Natalie 
... in herself is a different case from any that has 
ever been recorded. Even the most fanciful flights 


18 


ATAVAR 


of the fiction writers have not hit upon anything 
exactly similar to her case. I get no help from Mr. 
Belasco’s ^The Case of Becky.’ Neither is she a 
feminine Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. Nor is she quite 
like the unfortunate young man in Kipling’s Tinest 
Story in the World.’ ” 

He paused a moment before the velvet hanging 
and drew it aside that the face might emphasize 
what he was saying. 

^To begin with, there are what I call Natalie’s 
paleolithic dreams, dreams of the Stone Age, dreams 
in which she is Gel, as she calls herself in some gib¬ 
berish jargon—Gel pursued by two paleolithic men 
from the caves and carried off by them. . . . Dag, 
a third troglodyte, of the later paleolithic, as nearly 
as I can make out, pursues, battles with the two, and, 
being cleverer than either, kills one and beats off 
the other—wins Gel. Dag, you see, the late paleo¬ 
lithic man, conquers the earher paleohthic and car¬ 
ries off the early neolithic girl. Gel.” 

Still holding the drapery aside from the face, the 
eyes of which were momentarily taking on a new 
meaning, he went on: 

“But the real problem is what I call Natalie’s 
megalithic dreams, her ^Dream Dance,’ in the moon¬ 
light, as if in the days when Druid Stonehenge 
was new. 

“When she was in her early girlhood Natalie was 
a problem to her father, a scholarly gentleman of 
fortune and breeding, son of the old banker, Douglas 
Lisle, to him and to my father, Doctor Gerard, the 
family physician. Natalie’s moods were a cause of 
constant study not unmixed with alarm. But 
neither her father nor mine came within a thousand 


ATAVAR 19 

miles, or rather years, of hitting on the clew to her 
rather erratic conduct. 

^Tor instance, they could not understand her ex¬ 
cessive somnolence in the forenoon, nor her exces¬ 
sive activity with the falling of night. And when 
the two kindly old gentlemen found the scantily clad 
girl dancing eerie dances among the moon shadows 
on summer nights or climbing over dizzy roofs, they 
decided that she was a somnambulist. Nothing 
could have been farther from the truth. Kennedy, 
believe it or not, in reality, as I see it, Natalie was 
wide-eyed awake. She was actually under the night- 
roaming dance spell of an earlier existence!’^ 

Kennedy said nothing, but it was plain that his 
alert mind was busy on a new and unheard-of 
problem. 

^^She was a strange little girl, then,’^ remarked 
Roger, reminiscently, as he gently let fall the velvet 
screen over the portrait, ^^several years younger than 
I, as you must have guessed, and I think I was about 
the youngest in our class, was I not?’^ 

Kennedy nodded, but it was an abstracted nod, 
rather to encourage the psychoanalyst to tell his 
own story, as one who said, ^‘Physician, heal thy- 
self.^^ 

‘Tond as I was of her, I remember I would feel 
an instinctive dread steal over me when Natalie and 
I were alone together when the shadows began to 
lengthen and the irresistible desire to dance wild, 
sensuous dances came over her. . . . 

“I shall never forget one wild night when I fol¬ 
lowed her in anxiety and came upon her riding bare- 
back upon the king stag that led the deer with 
which her father’s park was stocked—a beautiful 


20 


ATAVAR 


picture that only my fear for her safety led me to 
interfere with. For a time after that Natalie and I 
were estranged. In fact I returned home at dawn 
scratched and bleeding and with marks of human 
teeth pocking my arms and neck, a circumstance 
that I would not explain, even under threats from 
my father. Shortly after that I was sent away to 
college to begin training for my medical career, 
which I later bent around toward psychoanalysis 
and the mind.” 

Gerard pulled a silken cord and his butler padded 
in, replenished the glasses, and padded out again 
without a word. 

^Then father died—and Guy Hawtrey bought our 
place, next to Natalie's. About the same time 
Gordon Gaunt bought the place to the north of the 
Lisles. I went abroad to study with Jung and 
Freud, then in Berlin, finally in Paris. I came back 
to find Natalie a bit fascinated and very much 
afraid of a struggle that had grown up between 
Hawtrey and Gaunt over her. She is . . . yet.” 

Gerard banged his glass down so that it cracked. 
^^Craig,” he exclaimed, ‘‘I have had to watch those 
neighbors of Natalie laying siege to the treasure 
house that belongs to me. Natalie is mine! And 
they are trying to outbid each other at every turn. 
Hawtrey understands what I call her ^night' tem¬ 
perament—I am afraid. Neither of these men is 
the man for her. 

^^She is a child of nature. A recent whim is rais¬ 
ing rare and beautiful orchids. She isn't content to 
wear them; she must grow them. In the daytime 
she spends hours with them.” He hfted a sketch 
portfolio and shoved some sketches in Craig's direc- 




ATAVAR 


21 


tion. have won some attention and consideration 
by painting her prize orchids when they bloom, and 
I have earned all the consideration IVe got and 
more. The orchid house is the hottest and dampest 
part of the conservatory. 

^Tt beats the devil the way Gaunt helps his case 
alone with her. Only yesterday Natahe called me 
up in great excitement. Gaunt had presented her 
with an orchid plant that was valued at several thou¬ 
sand dollars. Just fancy ... a little surprise, you 
know. And would 1 come over and paint it, as 
the bud would probably be opened by to-morrow. 
Then when I'm sweating in that damned conserva¬ 
tory, I suppose I am to use my art to bolster his 
suit! And if I don't go, what about my own?" 

Gerard walked violently across the room a couple 
of times, rang viciously for the butler, and all but 
accused him of breaking his glass. 

^^Hawtrey is the problem, though. Last week he 
gave Natalie a wonderful polo pony and now every 
evening—confound this daylight saving!—she is 
trying to break her neck with this gift—and what 
worries me most is that Hawtrey is with her a good 
deal of the time. I wish he'd break his! Between 
polo ponies and orchids, where do I come in? I 
scrapped one motor boat because it wasn't fast 
enough for her, the Nomad', then another, the 
Nomad 11. I'm having Nomad III built, the fastest 
and biggest speed cruiser I can get. But it isn't 
ready for delivery yet . . . quite. I know her pas¬ 
sion for the restless, rolling, dancing sea. I thought 
I might make an appeal to the 'night' Natalie and 
the 'day' Natalie at once—but if it's money wins, 
why, it's two to one against me!" 


22 


ATAVAR 


''Who is this Gaunt?'' asked Kennedy. 

"Gaunt? Gaunt belongs to that class of suddenly 
rich that the papers call profiteers, but I incline to 
think have an inherited capacity to take money 
away from other people in one way or another. He 
does it with oil." 

"And Hawtrey?" 

"The source of Hawtrey's fortune—well—to be 
perfectly frank, you just swallowed some of it 
rum running—^started with a chap named Carfax, 
Norman Carfax, a distant cousin of Natalie, by the 
way. It's good stuff, eh? But sometimes it sticks 
in my throat. Hawtrey had a quarrel with Carfax 
not long ago over his wife, Dorothy Carfax. I be¬ 
lieve Carfax revenged himself by taking up with a 
little dancer. Fay Blythe, another flam© of Haw- 
trey’s. Carfax!" 

Gerard gritted his teeth. "Listen to this. There 
was a wonderful swimming pool on the Lisle place. 
By the side of it there used to be a pergola. This 
was a couple of years ago, when Carfax and Hawtrey 
were so thick. 

"It was one of Natalie’s favorite spots on the es¬ 
tate. In June it was a bower of roses, a joy to 
every sense. There she would go at night when the 
moon was young and dance on the broken flag 
stones that paved the pergola of roses. Clad in 
filmy draperies, she would dance the night through. 

"She would lean over the pool and watch the 
shadows darting here, there, never still. Natalie 
danced with her whole body. Gleefully she would 
pose and express some wild desire or sinuously wave 
her beautiful arms and expressive hands. Her hands 
would almost talk. She. would bow; her shadow 


ATAVAR 


23 


would bow. Then with a merry laugh she would 
leap high and shoot out one graceful limb. Almost, 
in the night shadows, it would seem as if she were 
wafted along in the air as she floated down on the 
other, then rose again, ever varying and repeating 
the eerie grace of her dance. She loved the shadows. 

^^One night she saw her cousin, Norman Carfax, 
watching her. Her mood changed. He was older 
than herself and she resented his spying. Intensely 
angry, but concealing it, she continued to dance 
bhthely around the lip of the pool, through the per¬ 
gola, over the broken flags, stopping to bend grace¬ 
fully over the water, cupping her hands to fling it 
high in the air. 

^^She did this several times until she neared the 
place where her cousin was concealed, near the edge 
of the pool. Suddenly with a quick dart she was 
back in the shrubbery that bent over nearly to the 
water. Before he was aware of her intention. Carfax 
was in the pool. With a mocking laugh she danced 
off across the meadows, toward the deer park. Car- 
fax could not swim very well and it might have been 
serious, but he managed to pull himself out. Cousin 
. . . Carfax . . . ugh! Smart—upstart—society!” 
Roger ground out. 

For a full five minutes we listened to a tirade from 
Gerard on the twisted triangles of Hawtrey, the Car- 
faxes, and Fay Blythe, on Dorothy and Fay cast off 
by Hawtrey, and Norman Carfax double-crossed in 
love and the money game, both, by him. 

‘TFs smart society, all right,” wound up Gerard,— 
^^smart dinners, smart drinks, smart dances. I used 
to think the ffhree D’s,^ as I call them, were a safety 
valve that let off a good deal of moral steam harm- 


24 


ATAVAR 


lessly. But I guess some of our reforming friends 
have sat on the safety valve until the pressure is 
ungodly terrific. At least, there’s a lot of damn 
smart deviltry in the dining, drinking, and dancing 
of this set!” 

I began to feel that Gerard, the psychoanalyst, 
was betraying his own complexes as he talked, a re¬ 
action against '"smart” society of to-day as ex¬ 
emplified by Hawtrey, the girl-crazy, passion-struck; 
by Gaunt and by Carfax, and l3y the women, 
Dorothy Carfax and Fay Blythe. 

They interfered with him, in his plans for Natalie, 
to solve the mystery of her strange unconscious per- 
sonahty and conform it to the normal line of happi¬ 
ness. Hence his reaction. Was that his inferiority 
complex? I felt at least they would ghbly say so— 
that is, if they knew enough of the new science that 
was being smattered so thickly around them. 

"So, you see, when I returned from abroad,” 
Gerard went on to tell of his battle for the true 
Natalie, "I reahzed that in my absence she had 
fallen more deeply in the power of this upstart 
society. I knew it because by my studies I had 
gained a deeper insight into the secret springs of 
life. I knew the relation that such as Hawtrey, 
Gaunt, and Carfax bore to the "dream dance’ com¬ 
plex in the unconscious mind of Natalie. Such peo¬ 
ple held a mastery over that side of her dual nature. 

""I felt it was a supreme test of my love. So I 
set about definitely and patiently to win Natalie 
through her better self. My first step, as I thought 
it out, was to win her in such a way that I might 
substitute something that was harmless for the 
"night’ Natalie, as I call it. Clearly, one thing— 


ATAVAR 


25 


stage dancing—filled the need. Therefore I began 
an appeal to the ‘day^ Natalie. By encouraging the 
dance as an outlet for her Stone Age personality, I 
felt that the great step would be taken to satisfy 
the expression of the ^night’ Natahe. 

“But^—^now’^—he scowled darkly—“the dance 
may be an outlet to her dream dance complex. I 
was right—so far. But I fear it has put her at the 
mercy more than ever of those who consciencelessly 
exploit the dance—exploiters who play on sex ex¬ 
pression, which is the emotional spring of the dance. 
I fear that when I drove the devil out of the door, 
seven devils worse than the first have come in by 
the window. Hence, Craig, this meeting—and this 
appeal to you!” 

Kennedy had been listening silently, deductively, 
but none the less sympathetically. I knew it touched 
upon a thesis of modern life on which he and I had 
had several spirited discussions. 

“I^d have to know her, first,” replied Craig, 
simply, adding, “and not through you.” 

“Walter!” exclaimed Gerard. “Why not through 
Walter—and the theatrical column of the Star?'' 


CHAPTER II 


THE DREAM DANCER 

With the way paved by a telephone introduction 
from Belle Balcom, dramatic critic on the Star and 
an intimate friend of Natalie Lisle at college, Ken¬ 
nedy and I set out to visit Natalie in her dressing 
room at the American Opera that afternoon. 

^‘How are we going to get her to talk intimately— 
about herself?’' I wondered. 

Kennedy shrugged. ^Wait for the right opening, 
I suppose. I’m an opportunist on interviews—and 
fishing excursions. And if the chance comes—just 
fade away—and let me play it, Walter.” 

“Thanks!” Sarcastically. 

All was excitement at the American. “Last dress 
rehearsal,” I explained at Craig’s look of inquiry. 
“To-night’s the big night!” 

We made our way backstage and at last I tapped 
on the door of a dressing room on which was painted 
a big white star. 

The door was opened by a slip of a girl—a girl 
with a haunting magnetic personality, big, ques¬ 
tioning, passionate eyes. It was the face of the por¬ 
trait. You could nevei!’ forget that face with its 
tender wistfulness. I saw even Kennedy draw in his 
breath and square his shoulders in admiration. 

“Mr. Jameson? The Star?” she repeated. “WeU, 
26 


ATAVAR 


27 


I suppose, now that I am trying to be a star myself, 
I must be pleasant to you newspapermen. Are you 
going to ask me questions ... or am I supposed 
to tell my favorite perfume, pie, or pomade without 
being asked? Tell me. I want sincerely to please 
the public. What do you think? Ought I to say 
I do take champagne baths ... or I don’t?’’ 

Craig laughed, and at the sound of his voice 
Natalie raised her eyes interrogatively first at him, 
then toward me, and I hastened to present him. 

“Not the Mr. Kennedy whO'— 

“Yes, he is. Miss Lisle. The very same. The 
crime expert who causes me to fill columns in the 
Star. Only, this afternoon as a relaxation he joined 
me on my theatrical visits.” 

Natalie extended a small white hand with a great 
deal of respect. “I used to hear my father speak 
of you in connection with some bank case, Mr, 
Kennedy, and he seemed to think that your wisdom 
was uncanny.” 

Kennedy took the hand and smiled and bowed. 
As he bowed he noticed a book thrown carelessly 
on the dressing table. It was a very recent treatise 
on psychoanalysis. The gilt title lay uppermost— 
Sovl Study, by Roger Gerard, M.D., Ph.D. 

From the numerous markers in it it seemed to 
have been read with care. Evidently notes had been 
written on some of them in a dainty feminine 
hand. 

“I see you are quite up-to-date. Miss Lisle. That 
little book will soon be one of the best sellers. Have 
you read it through?” 

Natalie picked it up meditatively, and with eyes 
drawn in a frown murmured. “I have read it twice. 


28 


ATAVAR 


I am so moody myself at times that I thought I 
would try to learn to psychoanalyze myself. I am 
afraid I can’t . . . and I don’t want to go to anyone 
else.” 

I felt she meant, ^^Least of all Roger Gerard.” 
She dropped the book with a sigh. 

^Well, Miss Lisle, if I could be of any assistance 
. . . I have made a little study of the subject my¬ 
self ... I’d be only too glad.” 

She glanced sidewise at me and shook her head 
slowly. 

Kennedy’s earlier remark flashed through my 
head. saw a friend of mine in the show as we 
came in. Will you excuse me a moment? I’ll get 
a word in with her before she gets away. Maybe 
Kennedy can be of some use to you. Then I’U be 
right back and we’ll fix up that interview—just the 
way you want it.” 

She did not catch my wry face aside at Kennedy. 
In fact, she seemed rather to welcome the oppor¬ 
tunity to talk alone. ^Then . . . I’ll give you my 
favorite brand ... or breakfast food . . . which¬ 
ever you think wiU please the public best!” 

As Kennedy said afterward when he told me as 
much as he chose of the interview, he could not but 
feel that Natalie Lisle was the super-perfect product 
of twentieth-century culture, beautiful, splendidly 
educated, apparently mistress of an ample fortune 
and a fine old estate, and with a brilhant career 
virtually assured. She seemed to be a young woman 
to be envied and he as much as said so. 

^^Yet . . . I am vastly unhappy!” she murmured. 

‘The ancients had much that we might profit by 
. . . For instance, Socrates . . . ‘Know thyself.’ ” 


ATAVAR 29 

‘Tor twenty years I have tried to solve that prob¬ 
lem—the tragic problem of myself.^’ 

“Tell me . . . why—tragic?’' 

She drew out one or two markers from the book. 
“Within myself ... I am really two girls. . . . 
Chronologically speaking, these two girls are several 
thousand years or so apart. One self is that of a 
refined and sensitive girl whose rearing and educa¬ 
tion have been . . . well . . . ultra-modem. The 
other self I have located as a savage Druid priestess, 
a barbarian, living under the primitive conditions of 
several thousand years ago ... in the weird age 
of blood sacrifice and sun worship . . . when Stone¬ 
henge was new!” 

“Never mind the markers . . . just now,” en¬ 
couraged Craig. “Tell me in your own words, just 
as they come to you, without the effort of writing, 
just what you feel.” 

Somehow, as always!, Kennedy inspired confi¬ 
dences. “Well . . . you see, my two personalities 
are so mixed that they are practically aware of each 
other at all times. But which self I am and which 
is the other I never can tell. For I am both selves 
and both selves all the time. . . . 

“At first very rarely did it happen that one self 
did not know what the other was doing. And also at 
first I had no visions or memories of the past in 
which that early self lived. That early self lived 
now—in the present. But while it lived in the pres¬ 
ent it was under a strange compulsion to live the 
way of life that must have existed in that distant 
past. Later . . . the dreams came.” 

She stopped as if considering how far to go with 
a stranger. 


30 


ATAVAR 


Kennedy was seated in a chair before a triple 
mirror, one wing of which reflected all that went 
on in the hall back of him. The door was open and 
he could see members of the cast and the stage crew 
coming and going down the wide corridor. 

He saw a maid coming down the hall with a huge 
bunch of American Beauties in her arms. With a 
quick glance on either side she stopped. She pulled 
out a partly sealed envelope from the flowers and 
opened it in an agitated manner. As she read the 
card, standing still, she closed her eyes and a look 
almost of pain or distress flashed over her face. She 
put out her hand toward the wall to steady herself. 
Then as she opened her eyes again the look of an¬ 
guish changed to one of anger, almost malevolence. 
She threw her shoulders back, broke ofl a rose, kissed 
it passionately, then crushed it viciously in her hand 
as she thrust it in the blouse of her uniform. 

Entering the dressing room, the maid coughed 
and made a slight noise. Natalie turned quickly, 
a charming smile on her face. 

“Oh, Inger, what would I do without you and 
your wonderful experience? Will you get that cos¬ 
tume in the box and arrange it so that I can get into 
it quickly? Mr. Kennedy, Inger has spent a good 
deal of her life about the stage. You can imagine 
how much I rely on her and how fortunate I am.^’ 

Inger returned Natalie’s friendly greeting with 
a nod, but when Natalie’s face was averted and Inger 
was leaving the room to get the costume, she stopped 
in the hallway long enough to mutter something, 
clenching her fists. 

“This is interesting,” thought Kennedy to him¬ 
self. “Who sent the roses?” 


ATAVAR 


31 


‘^More flowers, Mr. Kennedy/^ caroled Natalie. 
^^Aren’t they beautiful?’’ She read the name on the 
card, smiled, dropped it as she buried her face in 
the blooms. 

^^If flowers are an indication of popularity, your 
success seems assured. Your dressing room looks 
like a conservatory.” 

Natalie had dropped the card by a vase of violets. 
Craig turned from some orchids. ^‘Beautiful, too^— 
and my favorites.” He bent over the violets, his 
nose in the violets, his eyes on the card, ‘^Mr. Guy 
Hawtrey,” he read. 

It was some instants before another remark of 
Kennedy’s called her back to the real subject. 

‘^Oh—yes—one time when I was questioned by 
the old doctor—Doctor Gerard, by the way, father 
of Roger Gerard, who wrote that book. . . . Doctor 
Gerard was the only neighbor to our rather isolated 
estate in those days—I told him the truth as I 
naively comprehended it then . . . and afterward 
suffered the ignominy of having this revelation con¬ 
temptuously labeled and dismissed as ^dreams.’ ” 

A far-away almost trance-like look came into her 
eyes. ^The point was that as twilight and evening 
came on, I became wakeful. The four walls of a 
room were a restraint not to be borne. I heard a 
thousand voices whispering to me through the dark¬ 
ness. The night called to me with a demand that 
was not to be denied. For the dark period of the 
twenty-four hours I was my other self, the passion¬ 
ate dancing priestess of the Stone Age, a night 
prowler. But no one understood and never again 
did I try to explain. . . . 

“As I grew to be an older girl, I became more and 


32 


ATAVAR 


more a slave to my other self—and more secretive. 
My father and old Doctor Gerard took precautions 
to curb what they called my ^sleepwalking procliv¬ 
ities/ but their precautions were pretty useless. The 
greater portion of all my nights was spent in the 
open, dancing through forest and meadow, realiz¬ 
ing my other self ... I must have been a strange, 
moody, morbid little girl about that time. . . . 

^^Even to my closest playmate, Roger Gerard, the 
doctor’s son, several years older than I, I was shy 
and reticent concerning my other self. And you can 
imagine what other children would have thought 
if I had confided in them the queer impulses I felt 
stirring in me. Roger, at that early age, was my 
ardent worshipper. We were together constantly— 
but I never told him—least of all after his father 
began to put me through the family clinic.” 

Kennedy nodded sympathetically at the picture of 
the misunderstood little girl. ^Wou know,” he 
camouflagjed, “Gerard was a classmate of mine. 
Once he wrote a story for the University Lit., the 
year Jameson was editor. I wonder . . . was that 
a story ... or an experience? Do you recall a 
wild night when Roger Gerard followed you—and 
came upon you riding bareback on the king stag?’’ 

“Yes! And how I bit and clawed him! It did not 
seem to be Roger. It was . . . some one else . . . 
a long time ago.” She closed her eyes dreamily. 
“Roger wouldn’t tell his father. We didn’t speak 
for a long time—not until after he came back on 
his first vacation. Doctor Gerard sent him, after 
that, to medical school as a special student.” 

“I don’t suppose that was a unique experience for 
you—except that Roger followed and watched,” 


ATAVAR 33 

commented Kennedy, in the hope of getting her to 
say something, perhaps, of Carfax. 

^^No . . . and that sort of—of night riding,’’ she 
smiled, “wasn’t the only time or the only form in 
which this battle of my dual nature ever visualized 
itself to me. I say visualized because it seems as if 
I, myself—whatever is the real ^I’—am just a spec¬ 
tator, watching this conflict within myself. I can’t 
make it clear. . . .” 

Kennedy nodded sympathetically and she went 
on. “But ... it was after just such a battle of 
the two opposing forces within me that I accident¬ 
ally, quite, discovered what seemed to be an anti¬ 
dote for the eternal conflict. I seemed compelled 
to dance. At first it would manifest itself in the 
wild contortions of a savage—but gradually my de¬ 
sire worked itself off. The dance became more 
classical in character. . . . 

“I found that when the ancient nature could 
express itself in the classical dance—to a more lim¬ 
ited extent in folk dancing and the other dances they 
teach children sometimes nowadays—it marked a 
return to my other self—as if the outlet of the an¬ 
cient nature then would allow the modern nature to 
remain calm—if you get what I mean.” 

“Of course,” hazarded Kennedy. “At this time 
in your career you didn’t know that this desire to 
dance is in itself nature’s safeguard, that it was this 
intuitive inhibition that accounted for your ^dream 
dancing’ in early girlhood. Yet—had old Doctor 
Gerard and your shocked father only known, it was 
the means of working off the suppressed desires and 
making room in your complex nature for the ^good’ 
elements in your character as it was forming.” 


34 


ATAVAR 


''Oh! That sounds like Roger—not like you Mr. 
Kennedy!’’ she exclaimed, reproachfully. 

It was at that moment that the door popped open 
and an unconventional person wafted in, with me. 

"Fay Blythe,” announced the unconventional per¬ 
son at sight of Kennedy, a stranger. 

"And Mr. Jameson, I presume!” twinkled Craig. 

"What? You two together? Oh, Mr. Kennedy, 
don’t start any detective work near me! The sight 
of a policeman makes me so nervous! I am almost 
ready to do something wrong just to see him in 
action. What do you mean by scaring the life out 
of our little star? The whole show depends on her 
to-night!” 

With a genial laugh Fay bounded up on a trunk 
on end, her shapely legs hanging over and her perky 
little heels beating a merry racket on the empty 
sides of the trunk. 

"He hasn’t frightened me^—yet,” protested 
Natalie, stifling a bit of vexation at the interruption. 
"And it’s pretty nice to have some one so intelligent 
to talk to ... on one’s favorite subject.” 

"The trouble with me,” laughed Fay, "is that I 
can get enough to listen to my favorite subject, but 
I can’t always make it pay well enough.” 

Natalie was nonplussed. She smiled and tried 
to assume a blase air. But I fancied that she col¬ 
ored even under the make-up. 

Let me go back for a moment to my meeting with 
Fay in the corridor backstage. For various detec¬ 
tive reasons I had begun by asking her for her latest 
photographs. Also, I wanted to see her after the 
show. Fay seemed to have other ideas, however. 

I may also say here that already I had, myself, 


ATAVAR 


35 


seen the strange and spiteful action of Inger with 
the flowers when she thought she was not observed. 

^Who is she, Fay?^’ I had asked. 

^^A maid—Nat aliens maid—^loaned to her by Mr. 
Hawtrey—his housekeeper—once’^—there was no 
mistaking the meaning in Fay’s eyes; ^^used to be 
a pony in a ballet in the old days.” 

^Well,” I observed, ^flf there’s ever a snake in 
Cleopatra’s bouquet, cherchez the maid—that’s all 
I’ve got to say. That’s no gentle dame!” 

Fay looked at me significantly a moment, yet for 
the life of me I could not make out what was in 
that look. I wished later that I could. 

^^Now, I say, Fay,” I resumed. ^^Be a good sport. 
When may I see you? I’ve given you more space 
in a lot of shows than the star got—you know that. 
Don’t throw me over. Say when!” 

Fay laughed an artificial laugh, like herself. But 
it was that very artificiality that was the intriguing 
side of Fay’s character. Besides, I knew that if there 
was ever any scandal about. Fay would know it and 
have it pat. 

‘T’ll call you to-morrow forenoon—about eleven.” 

^^Cross your heart?” 

^^You stage-door finale hoppers never let a poor 
girl rest! An artiste needs write-ups—and you know 
it. So— There there, my dear, don’t get peeved. 
It’s just a way I have. If you come to the show 
to-night. I’ll give my highest kick for you—and 
there’s some kick in it! eh?—and tell you all about 
it afterward.” 

‘Tay, I’ll be there with bells. You bet. The Star 
sent me down here to do a little atmosphere story 
about the girls in ^Astarte.’ Now I’ve got those 


36 


ATAVAR 


pictures of you, 1^11 run one of them with the story— 
the one I like best—^in your new gown—two strings 
of pearls and that smile/^ 

''Solid’'—Fay tapped my head—"blubber!”” We 
had reached Natalie’s door. "She’s a nut—with her 
classic-dancing ideas” she whispered. "Never you 
mind, though. I’ll teach her some tricks. With her 
looks—and that figure—and her position, she’ll go 
far—if she’s nice to the men like I am. Oh, Lordy, 
if I had what she’s got, I’d marry a trillionaire!” 

I smiled to myself. That was just touching upon 
the reason of my being there. It was no wonder 
Roger felt that Natalie was dancing right out of 
the frying-pan into the fire. I felt more than ever 
that if I kept in with the crowd I would learn 
something. 

In Natalie’s room, I saw instantly that Craig 
had established relations. Bantering, I sought to 
take up my interview as we sat about on wicker 
chairs or by preference on costume trunks. I was 
glad to see, also, that Kennedy must have gone as 
far as he did, over the difficult part, for, as nearly 
as I could make out, Natalie consented to begin 
with me where she had apparently left off with 
Craig—a httle more reticent with all of us present, 
but sufficient, I hoped, for Kennedy. 

"As I grew older I suppose I was a problem to my 
father” she remarked, talking half to Kennedy. 
"Anyhow, he thought it was quite all right to enter 
me in a neighboring finishing school attended by 
sub-deb daughters up there. 

"I was soon known as a 'little devil’ and the el¬ 
derly ladies who ran the school privately called me a 
mental monstrosity. As a matter of fact I didn’t 


ATAVAR 


37 


differ in such a marked degree from the majority 
of the very modem young girls about me. I was 
more of a hoyden, perhaps, a tomboy, than most. 
But my ^moral tone’—they were always talking 
about moral tone^—^was, if anything, an improve¬ 
ment on the rest. In athletics I was a wonder to 
them. The few girl companions I had used to call 
me, ^Some kid!’ I could outclimb, outrun, out¬ 
dance any of them and none of them dared me in 
competition. I was too madly furious at things I 
did. 

^Well, at last I ran away from the school, and 
it was more than a week before my frantic father 
found me—and then it was on our own estate. They 
discovered me in a cave-lair in a deeply wooded sec¬ 
tion of the park, a cave expertly made from a wood¬ 
craft point of view and carpeted with dry leaves 
and grasses. 

^Tt was a marvel to them how I managed tO' exist 
and keep in condition during that time. My father 
and the doctor did not know and I never told them, 
of the rabbits and quail I captured and devoured, 
or the warm milk that I got from the browsing 
cows and the eggs stolen from hen roosts I raided. 

“And they didn’t guess at my companionships 
during that period. But if they had happened upon 
the hillsides at the far end of the estate in the mists 
of the moon during my absence they would have had 
a vision of a lithe little girl, her flesh flashing silver 
in the moonhght as she ran swiftly and danced in 
the midst of the circling herd of deer. Some day 
I mean to have some one write for me that scene 
for a play or a picture—live it again! ” 


38 


ATAVAR 


^^Some kid—is right exclaimed Fay, spontane¬ 
ously. 

Natalie smiled. Was she not averse to impressing 
Fay that she was not, after all, a ‘^dead on©’^? 

^^At last,’^ she resumed, ^^father consented to send 
me away to college. At college I was notorious for 
dullness, even stupidity during the morning lec¬ 
tures and for keen perception and brilliance in the 
afternoon. Odd, wasn’t it? Incidentally, I gained 
some highly specialized knowledge on the problem of 
most interest to myself. It was as the star dancer 
at the college fetes that I shone brilliantly. Study 
in the library, you know, and my own intuition and 
instinctive craving to dance.” 

The last was to Kennedy. Then she turned to 
me. ^Then my father died and . . .” She paused 
as though she was covering something more than 
the death of her father. 

^This will interest your readers. It was at a col¬ 
lege pageant just before my father’s death, a pa¬ 
geant given for charity, that I was ^discovered’ by 
Maurice Wagner—I suppose you caU him in the 
papers, the impresario of the American Opera. Mr. 
Wagner was a friend of our neighbor, Mr. Gaunt. 
Then, some time after father’s death—” 

She stopped again and I felt that here, too, she 
was covering up some part of the story. 

^Well,” she went on, “there came a renewal of 
the offer. At first I refused, of course. But the 
conviction was growing on me that, come what 
might, I would have to dance for my own salvation.” 

She had blurted this out to Kennedy almost before 
she knew it. She stopped, gasping at herself. 


ATAVAR 39 

‘‘So—I accepted/’ she added, slowly, eyes lowered. 

There were footsteps and voices in the hall. 

“Oh, Mr. Jameson,” she appealed, “you fix it up 
—some way that it reads all right. I—I’m too ner¬ 
vous, and upset to-day!” 

In the doorway I recognized the impresario, 
Wagner. With him was a tall, spare, youngish mid¬ 
dle-aged man, rather handsome. 

“Well, Gordon!” cried out Fay, clapping her 
hands. “How about that dinner I’ve been promised 
so long? My little fiashlight doesn’t shine, does it? 
It takes a lighthouse—or a star—to get you near 
me!” 

Gaunt smiled good-humoredly, not otherwise I 
felt than because he had to. Still, it was impos¬ 
sible not to have some liking for Fay. She took 
as much out of life as she could, and if her hands 
came up empty once in a while^—why, she was just 
“out of luck.” She played good friends with all 
her old loves, and one must be clever to do that. 

Gaunt had eyes only for Natalie. But he was 
polished. And Wagner and his show meant much 
at that moment. 

“I’ll tell you,” he gleamed. “If the show goes 
over big there will be a dinner for the gang to-night. 
Natahe—and Fay—shall do the inviting. At the 
Gilded Lily. How about it?” 

“The Gilded Lily! Oh, Lordy, Lordy! Gordy—do 
you remember—” 

Gaunt broke in with a laugh and changed the 
subject with consummate skill. He did not want to 
reminisce before Natalie. 

There was no need to worry. A bluff, hearty voice 


40 


ATAVAR 


in the hall was followed by a peal of laughter from 
some dancers as some one else swung nearer us. 

^^Oh . . . Mr. Hawtrey!’- 

The hulking figure of a man loomed and beamed 
in the doorway. Natalie herself felt the infection 
of his presence. 

‘^Come in, Guy. I must be a real star now. Inter¬ 
viewed by the newspapers and all that!^^ 

Hawtrey held her hand a good deal too long to 
please Gaunt, who frowned as he swung around 
on his heel to chat sidewise to Kennedy. 

^Tou are the first to be invited to our supper 
Natalie cried. 

Politician that she was bom, she gently laid her 
hand on Gaunt’s arm and coaxed a nod of acquies¬ 
cence out of him. 

^‘Bully—I’ll be there^—^with my dry humor!” 
thanked Hawtrey, facing her as if he could have 
picked her up and carried her ofi under his arm. 

Closer to me a moment later, I could see that 
Hawtrey had had a few of his own drinks—and there 
was a deviltry in his face that rather enhanced than 
detracted from his looks. 

Gaunt was sour. Nor did it escape Hawtrey. He 
was just in a mood to rub it in. 

^T suppose, Gordon, lij^e the rest of this reformed 
world you often wonder what the vintners buy that’s 
half so precious as the thing they sell? Well—” 

With that devilish fascinating smile he suddenly 
swept Natalie about by the two wrists with all the 
power and gentleness he could master, then let her 
arms fall slowly. 

A retort was trembling on Gaunt’s tongue when 
a call boy entered with a small package for Natalie. 


ATAVAR 


41 


A little embarrassed herself, Natalie seized it and 
tore it open. I could see the quiver of her body as 
she did so. ) 

Inside was a gold-framed old photograph—two 
children on shaggy Shetland ponies. I happened to 
be directly next her and could see that the children 
were Natalie and Roger on the old Lisle estate. 

Underneath was written: 

Dearest: Remember your father^s pun about the bridal 
path when he laid it out to avoid the bogs ? 

Roger. 

Natalie colored deeper. Did she get it as a mute 
reminder of the polo pony Hawtrey had given her? 
At any rate, carelessly, as though all presents were 
in the course of a starts career, she tossed picture 
and wrapper on her dressing table. 

I could not help noticing her attitude toward 
Gerard. It was rather as toward an elder brother 
than a lover. In fact, she seemed almost to resent 
a bit of good advice from Roger. 

A few minutes later, on my way downtown, I could 
not help thinking of what we had seen—Inger and 
Fay Blythe, then Hawtrey and Gaunt and the im¬ 
presario, Wagner. 

Was this a true picture of Natalie^s daily life? 
Then there were grave temptations, ominous as¬ 
saults on her. 

Natalie was clever. But could she withstand such 
subtle attack? Was she a salamander? Could she 
play with fire—and not be burnt? 


CHAPTER III 


CONFLICT 

There seemed to be three points of assault on 
Natalie as I saw it, and I determined to follow up 
and learn what I could of all three before the pre¬ 
miere of the ‘‘Astarte’’ spectacle that night—Haw- 
trey, Gaunt, and the Carfaxes. I did not know that 
with the things we had already started. Fate was 
going to play into our hands. 

It was late in the afternoon when I left Kennedy 
headed for his laboratory and returned to the Star 
to write a bit of copy about the show for the early 
edition. 

Hanging over my desk, waiting for me, was Boyle 
of the detective bureau of the prohibition enforce¬ 
ment office. 

Boyle lowered his voice. ‘We’re investigating a 
very prominent grass widow in society . . . under¬ 
stand? . . . Mrs. Dorothy Carfax . . . her rela¬ 
tions with a man named Hawtrey. Ever hear of 
him?” 

I nodded. “Owns a yacht, the Dorothy . . . get 
me? . . . Trips to Palm Beach, Nassau, Bermuda, 
on the yacht with him. Fine young scandal, eh? 
But . . . here’s the point . . . bootlegging . . . rum 
running on a big scale on the yacht ... a two hun¬ 
dred-footer. Now here’s the dirt. We’ve got the 
42 


ATAVAR 


43 


woman’s husband with us. He’s going to get Haw- 
trey’s butler and valet, Javary . . . good spender, 
gambler, understand? ... to turn state’s evidence 
. . . and then we’ve got the juiciest piece of news 
from the enforcement office this year.” 

^^When bootleggers fall out” I laughed and 
stopped. 

“Reporters get the truth! Want to go into it 
. . . with me . . . help engineer it? Think what 
a big news story . . . from the inside. Want to?” 

“Yes—and no.” 

“What do you mean by that?” 

“I’d rather not have Carfax know I’m interested— 
yet—for other reasons that I can’t tell you about 
now. I want to help you out. Frankly, I want to 
know—er—I like the story.” 

“Oh, that’s easy,” returned Boyle, a bit relieved. 
“You take the other end of the dictograph, with me, 
see? I’ve already got it installed between two rooms 
at the Prince Edward, Carfax’s room and another 
I’ve hired. According to legal rules of evidence we 
need two to substantiate a dictograph conversation. 
I’U be one, you be the other, and you won’t need 
to meet Carfax—yet—if you don’t want to.” 

“Yes—^but when? To-night I’ve got to . . .” 

“At five o’clock.” 

“Oh, that’s all right, then. I’ll be with you just 
as soon as I bang out a story to go with this photo¬ 
graph.” 

In the room on the eleventh floor of the Prince 
Edward, Boyle had rigged his dictograph simply by 
running the wire out through the window along the 
ledge and down to the next floor, where the room of 
Carfax was. 


44 


ATAVAR 


Just about five minutes after five we heard the 
buzzer on the door of the room below. I pass over 
the preliminary noises over the wire and the greet¬ 
ings. It was indeed Javary, Hawtrey^s valet-butler. 

^^But . . . all you have to do-,” urged a voice 
which by this time I could identify as that of Carfax, 
to tell the revenue people what you saw Haw- 
trey do—on the yacht—^in—Nassau^—other places 
—Sea Isle, you know, especially . . . There^s ten 
thousand dollars in it. . . . Will you do it?” 

‘'But—^what about your wife, Mr. Carfax?” 

“The hell with her! That’s just why I’m doing 
it. Don’t you see? She went with Hawtrey, de¬ 
serted me, didn’t she?” 

“Yes—but she gave him up.” 

“The devil you say! He threw her over! Serves 
her right—confound her. She left me—for him. 
He left her . . . That damned little nut of a cousin 
of mine . . . she’s next! I’U get him! The hell 
with my wife! What do I care? Get Hawtrey!” 

“Where is she now, sir?” 

“At the Gamorrah, I guess. . . . Again, the devil 
with that. Will you take ten thousand dollars, 
Javary? That’s the question. It’ll pay all your 
gambling debts, and leave you a handsome margin 
beyond that. What does Hawtrey pay you?” 

“But ... if Mr. Hawtrey ever finds out this 
frame-up against him, he’ll kill me!” 

“Me, too, then! I’m in the same boat, Javary. 
But . . . think of the money and how those sharks 
are hounding you for what you owe! And, besides, 
if you don’t do it, these booze bulls ’ll get you, sure. 
Hawtrey will go free. The big ones always do. They 
can cover themselves. It’s the small guy who gets 


ATAVAR 


45 


caught. Think a moment. This way you are safe 
from now on. You’re on the other side of the fence. 
And you’ve got ten thousand dollars—for saving 
your own skin. That’s what it amounts to. Under¬ 
stand?” 

I’ll see. But if he ever finds out—She’ll kill 
me. I’ll see you to-morrow.” 

“Hang to-morrow! That’s no answer. To-mor¬ 
row you may be indicted!” 

“All right—then—I’ll do it. . . . Give me the 
money to-morrow?” 

“On the level?” 

“Y-yes ... but it’s mighty risky for me.” 

“Done then! On your word! Don’t worry about 
the risk. I tell you there’s not a chance. You’ve 
got the government back of you now—and ten 
thousand dollars in your kicks—all your own money 
—^honest-to-God money—for helping justice!” 

My mechanical eavesdropping on Carfax through 
Boyle’s ear in the wall started me thinking. I felt 
that I must see Dorothy Carfax. 

I had been in our apartment waiting for Kennedy 
just long enough to get my things ready for the 
“Astarte” spectacle that evening when the telephone 
jangled ominously. It was just like the managing 
editor to want me to do something for the paper 
at this impossible moment. Well, I wouldn’t do 
it, that was all; I was sick abed, or something. I 
took down the receiver with a gruff, “Hello!” 

I was startled to hear Fay’s most winning voice, 
“Oh, is that you, Walter?” 

“You’re on. What seems to be the difficulty? Are 
you worried over that kick you promised me?” 

“Quit kidding! Do you want a kick—^some of 


46 


ATAVAR 


the best old Scotch youVe had in ages? Meet me 
in fifteen minutes. I can’t take much. I have to be 
in condition for my act to-night, but Lordy, Lordy! 
Walter, I can show you a good time even if I can’t 
give it to you!” 

''Sounds snappy. What’s the rush? Can’t it wait 
till after the show?” 

"No . . . The Gilded Lily, then. I’ve a friend 
up here wants; to meet you . . . Mrs. Carfax . . . 
in Dutch with hubby Carfax . . . wants to beat him 
to it. It’ll be such a rich little bit of news—just the 
kind you plaster the front page of your home edition 
with pictures and 'See page 5.’ ” 

"Who is this Mrs. Carfax?” I asked, trying hard 
to disguise my intense interest. 

"Oh, she lives up here at the Gamorrah, where I 
am. She’s a good pal and a real sport—lively—full 
of pep—and Scotch—just now. Better grab off a 
few yourself on your way up. Party’s been on for 
some time. Not rough yet, though. Some good 
old names up there”—this indefinitely—"and some 
darn pretty faces.” 

"All right. Fay. Thanks for the scandal. I’ll 
meet you in front of the Gamorrah. By-by.” 

Here was a chance to do something for Craig 
and incidentally get a good story. I slicked my 
hair, grabbed my hat and coat, and was in a taxi 
in a moment. 

Fay was even as prepared as I was. I was just 
pulling up under the marquee of the Gamorrah when 
I saw her leaning out of another car farther along 
the curb. I paid my driver and hurried over to take 
Fay’s welcoming hand. She pulled me in through 
the open door and I found myself between her and 


ATAVAR 47 

a very handsome woman a little the worse for the 
well-known Scotch I had heard about. 

^‘YouVe a darhng to come right along so soon.’^ 

^‘How could I do anything else for you, my dear?’’ 
I held her hand still; the door shut and the car be¬ 
gan to move. 

Fay answered by snuggling closer. ^Walter, this 
is Mrs. Carfax. Dorothy let me present Mr. 
Jameson.” 

^^Glad to know you Walter.” Dorothy Carfax put 
out her hand to shake mine, but she had a great 
deal of difficulty finding it. ^Wou seem to have so 
many hands—so many hands—and you can’t keep 
’em still!” • 

She was laughing and Fay was laughing and I 
was laughing and it seemed that none of us could 
stop. 

^^Call me Dot. When I like anybody they call me 
Dot.” Her body lurched near mine. I had no dif¬ 
ficulty in sitting up, with so much affection on either 
side of me. 

“Dot, tell Walter what you are going to own the 
end of the week. He’ll want to hear about it.” 

“Just a minute . . . minute.” With much fum¬ 
bling in her bag she drew out a very ladylike half 
pint flask and passed it over to me. “Have a drink 
—’s good for the hair—gives it a permanent wave. 
This car’s got a permanent wave, There^—have a 
smile!” 

We all laughed and I must admit it was fine 
Scotch. 

“I’ve bought a tea room . . . get me? . . . tea 
room . . . fine tea . . . Elinor Babbit Shaw’s old 
place . . . That tea in the fiask’s a sample. That 


48 


ATAVAR 


isn’t what I want to see you about . . . but soon 
... Now you’re a nice boy and I want you to help 
me . . . understand?” 

She had hold of the hand that Fay was not hold¬ 
ing. With Fay caddying for me, I played being 
teed up like a golf ball. We were getting more in¬ 
timate by the minute. 

'^Fay ... let me talk to your newspaperman. I 
want him to help me try my case in the papers. If 
I can get the sympathy of the public ... a great 
thing to have ... a great thing, my dear boy . . . 
my husband won’t have such an easy time with his 
story . . . and Mr. Gaunt won’t be so sure of him¬ 
self. . . . And th§^ pubhcity ’ll help my tea room. 
You know ... I must be careful of my reputation, 
dear. If I don’t get infamous, how ’ll my place get 
famous?” 

^Well, Dot, if you’re alwaj^s able to keep a stock 
of this stuff on hand, your clients will block traffic.” 

^‘Don’t want to block traffic . . . don’t want to 
block traffic . . . don’t want to talk about the tea 
room. . . . Now here’s this damn Gordon Gaunt 
.... Was an old friend of mine—” 

^^Of ours, why don’t you say. Dot?” broke in 
Fay. 

‘Df ours ... of course . . . and he’s trying to 
force me to tell Natalie Lisle the truth about Mr. 
Haw trey and myself. . . . Know Guy Haw trey? I 
love Guy Hawtrey!” 

I accepted it as honest confession and hence quite 
good for her soul. I paused scarcely a second to con¬ 
sider why she should confide in me regarding Haw- 
trey and Natalie, why she should vent her hate and 
jealousy to a strange newspaperman. Without a 


ATAVAR 


49 


doubt it was partly Scotch; but more because I wa:? 
a newspaperman and she hoped to try her case before 
the public. I had had large experience in what some 
women will tell reporters when they want to get 
square with another woman. 

''I won't double-cross him . . . yet . . . I have no 
love for that little she-devil . . . though ... I de¬ 
spise her . . . Ugh!" 

^The men all seem to fall for her; Gaunt and 
Hawtrey would . . Fay ventured thei remark to 
help things along and left it unfinished for the same 
reason. 

wish Gaunt would, and leave Guy to me. Do 
you know what that Gaunt wants me to do? He 
wants me, me to tell Natalie that Hawtrey is keep¬ 
ing me, tell her about his rum running, do the dirty 
work . . . and I won't ... so help me ... I 
won't!" Her voice rose. ^^He threatens to turn over 
to Mr Carfax's attorneys letters and papers belong¬ 
ing to me that he says he has—the dirty devil. Oh, 
I have to have another drink. 'Sawful! . . . There, 
that's better. . . . Oh, here we are." 

We got out of the car and together we got Dorothy 
up the stairS; a very willing climber, for the flask 
was empty. 

At a table Fay took something light, while I toyed 
with my highball, cutting down the alcoholic content 
with the charged water. We were in a sort of booth 
or cozy corner, and Dorothy Carfax insisted on going 
on with her story between drinks and during them. 

^Tf I tell her ... he swears he has influence 
enough to guarantee that nothing will happen to 
me. But I don't believe him. He's trying to use 


50 


ATAVAR 


me. Oh, they all try to use us and throw us over 
afterward. I won’t stand it!” 

Fay squeezed her hand sympathetically. I could 
see that she was between the devil and the deep sea. 
On the one side were jealousy of Natalie and hatred 
of Hawtrey for casting her aside. Would that over¬ 
balance her fear for her own safety from the law if 
she told of the rum-running cruises? And what if 
she did not tell? 

I was thinking of Natalie’s story up to the time 
of the summer following the king-stag incident with 
Roger, when old Doctor Gerard died and Roger, 
who was then immersed in his medical studies, was 
forced to sell the estate that bordered the Lisle deer 
park. 

^‘Let me see,” I prompted. ^‘1 used to know Roger 
Gerard very well in college. The Gerard estate was 
bought by Guy Hawtrey, was it not?” I flung open 
a window where the breeze would strike her. 

^Wes” replied Dot, bitterly. ^That was when 
Norman and I were just getting over it. Hawtrey 
got some reputation in those days in that parvenu 
smart set with the lavish entertainments he gave. 
He was a good sport ... in spite of some rather 
boorish things . . . then.” 

^^How’s that?” 

^Well, you know Hawtrey, don’t you? He’s a 
giant—strong personal appearance. He made quite 
a figure on the golf course or riding his great horses 
about the country ... I don’t know, but it was 
rumored he started life among the cow-punchers of 
Wyoming . . . that he had made his fortune in the 
cattle business. And there were strange stories from 
nowhere in particular that he was a terror among 


ATAVAR 


51 


men . . . stories of his rages on the range . . . 
when he ran amuck with men and cattle, both. The 
fact was he had been called a ^killer’—^but no one 
ever tracked down the stories.” 

^‘Yes? But what did you mean . . . parvenu 
. . . boorish?” I reverted taking advantage of the 
fresh air from the window. 

She closed her eyes, then a moment later: ^^Why, 
for instance, he remodeled the rambhng old Gerard 
mansion. His taste was barbaric. And he put in 
all the refinements, physical comforts, ... I donT 
know ... I meant barbaric taste and luxury . . . 
parvenu ... I guess.” She sipped her drink slowly 
and frowned. ‘‘It was like him to call it Hawtrey 
Hall . . . and then he put it in charge of a woman, 
a woman of uncertain age, Inger Dean. She was a 
riddle, like him. She was known as his house¬ 
keeper.” 

Fay flashed a look and Dorothy continued. 
^There were rumors about this Inger. The story I 
heard most was that she was nearly forty and had 
lost her attraction for Hawtrey. Anyhow, if you 
saw her you’d see that she has all the evidence of 
having once been a beautiful girl, wild, reckless. 
Anyhow, that’s the story, and he was said to keep 
her as one might keep an old hound that had a 
vicious loyalty for her master and a jealous hatred 
of his enemies. Well, this story fitted the facts 
as well as any other. People just shrugged. If it 
was true, perhaps it was more creditable than other¬ 
wise. No matter about that. He was a sport-loving 
bachelor in his late thirties, a good spender and had 
plenty of money. Wasn’t that enough?” 


52 


ATAVAR 


^'What set did he move in?’^ I asked purposely. 
^Was he received by the Lisles?” 

It had the desired effect. She frowned even 
deeper. ‘When he wanted to be. Natalie met 
him once . . . after some queer escapade when she 
ran away from finishing school.” 

“How was that?” I asked dissembhng my keen¬ 
ness. 

“Oh, she was coming home alone late one after¬ 
noon from the golf course and she took a short cut 
across a field near the Hawtrey stables. She had 
just got into the field when she was charged by a 
vicious Holstein bull he kept. She was almost par¬ 
alyzed as the brute bellowed down on her. Then 
Hawtrey, who was always about his stables, saw her. 
He leaped the fence on his horse. The bull was 
almost up to her and she threw her hands up over 
her eyes. The next thing she heard was something 
drop on the turf. It was Hawtrey with his hands 
gripping the horns of the bull. He had jumped 
from his saddle, ‘bull-dogged^ the Holstein—they 
said, just hke in the old days of the round-up. That's 
how he got to know the Lisles, later, I mean.” 

The mere thought of Natalie Lisle threw Dorothy 
into a fever of feeling. She resumed her Scotch 
and even the strong breeze from the window did not 
quiet her. She launched into short disconnected 
sentences about this first meeting of Hawtrey and 
Natahe. What she told was enough to interest me, 
and from it and what I learned later I have managed 
to picture myself pretty accurately what happened. 

I imagine that after this unconventional intro¬ 
duction Natahe could do no less than allow her res¬ 
cuer to escort her home. 


ATAVAR 


53 


Hawtrey was all smiling graciousness, as he could 
be, and as he took her arm to assist her over the 
fence she felt the irresistible thrill of like calling 
to like. Their eyes met and a flash of understanding 
seemed to flow from one to the other. Hawtrey 
gripped her arm as in a vise—the blue bruises of 
his ‘^caress’^ Natalie found later when she undressed. 

The girhs troubled soul about that time saw that 
in this man of brawn she had come upon the mate to 
her own primitive self—the counterpart of her wild 
‘^night” nature. Try as she would to suppress this 
nature, she felt the sex attraction of Hawtrey over¬ 
powering her other, ^^day,” nature. 

It was swiftly growing dusk and the surge of her 
blood, that always came with nightfall, was calling, 
calling inexorably. But her ‘^day’^ self, the highly 
strung, cleanly bred modern girl, shuddered at the 
touch of the brute in the man. 

Here was a battle of the ages, a struggle between 
the natures—unrestrained passions of ten times ten 
thousand years ago against the training and re¬ 
straints of a girl of to-day, a struggle of wills almost 
too great for the resistance of on© frail body. 

The man, too, was feeling the stir of the abysmal 
brute within him. An echo in his blood also seemed 
to tell of such a woman belonging to him in that 
dim bone-strewn cave back in the prehistoric past. 
He seemed to sense the soul-conflict going on within 
the girl at his side and was not above taking advan¬ 
tage of it. 

Slowly but powerfully he drew her to him until 
she stood quivering within the circle of his arm, 
her hot breath mingling with his as her eyes, wide 


ATAVAR 


54 

with terror at the desires that surged within her 
breast, gazed into those of the man. 

What Hawtrey saw in those haunted eyes was 
enough to convince him that, no matter what hap¬ 
pened, no matter how hard this spirited creature 
would fight, she was his—at least a part of her 
nature would answer to the spell his animal mag¬ 
netism, under its thin veneer of culture, cast over 
her. 

What would have happened, would have been the 
outcome of this silent conflict of twin souls, is 
a matter of conjecture. Natalie’s better self was 
fast succumbing when her father’s voice calling from 
the house broke the spell. 

Hawtrey reluctantly released her and, shamefaced 
and trembling, Natalie forced herself to bid him a 
formal good evening. She hurried to her room. 
There she threw herself sobbing upon her bed, with 
the dreaded specter of this new terror in her own 
self standing threatening over her—a specter that 
she now realized would always be hovering near, 
ready to betray her at the slightest weakening of 
her resolve. 

Wide-eyed through the night she fought with this 
newly realized menace. With the strength of her 
better self she wanted to be good, to be straight and 
clean. But even as she fought, there were moments 
when she thrilled at the memory of Hawtrey’s touch, 
when the blue marks left upon her flesh by the pres¬ 
sure of his caress seemed to her perverted senses to 
be the badge of womanhood, the throw-back to the 
old, age-old glory of woman in being possessed. 

It was then for the first time in her life that she 
really called upon Roger for help. To her terror 


ATAVAR 


55 


she found that the compulsion of her ^^night^’ self 
was upon her. She could not dispel from her mind 
even the fanciful shapes that crowded in procession 
before her eyes, shapes of powerful hunters in the 
Stone Age, warriors of ancient times. 

One after another they passed, as though mock¬ 
ing, until as she stared with fixed gaze of horror 
through the menacing phantasmagoria, it seemed as 
if her eyes became riveted in appeal upon the photo¬ 
graph of Roger before her, a photograph he had given 
her when he went away to study. 

Gradually it seemed as if he were transformed into 
a white knight, a Coeur de Lion, and as she strove to 
call to him for help, she saw him set upon by all the 
mocking figures, as though he were defending her 
from their onset. 

Overwrought, the poor girl sank forward, swoon¬ 
ing under the stress of the vision. 

Needless to say, it was no such picture that Dot 
and her Scotch atmosphere in the now rapidly fill¬ 
ing tea room drew. Nor would she have drawn it 
if she could. Thus, at least, however, I began to 
picture it to myself and was later in a position to 
complete the sketch. 

By this time the fun in the surrounding room 
was growing fast and furious. I think I saw more 
drinks taken by those few people in that short time 
than at any similar exhibition before prohibition. 
They seemed to think they must drink all they could 
while they had the chance. Nearly all were young, 
many very young. 

^Tretty lively crowd, eh?’’ Fay called to me above 
the hum of voices. 

^^Both!” was my only answer, for by that time 


56 


ATAVAR 


Dorothy Carfax had an arm around me and was 
telling me all the incidents and events she knew 
in the relations of Hawtrey and Natalie. 

‘^Some dolls have everything!’’ finally exclaimed 
Dorothy as she watched ^a couple. ^‘But she isn’t 
going to have my man. There’s no one like him, 
Walter, no one. He’s the great lover, the heavy 
lover, the real, honest-to-God lover. He couldn’t 
feel my arms about him like you this minute with¬ 
out putting his about me . . . and some love! . . . 
Think I’m going to lose all that without a fight?” 

At that moment in the center of the room a young 
man had reached the weepy stage. Two or three 
girls about the table were trying to ward it off and 
divert it. 

^Dh Reggie, this will help you,” offering him a 
seidlitz, “1 never go out with Jack without taking 
some of these along.” This from a flapper of not 
much more than sixteen. 

''No, Beth. That takes too long. Here—take a 
shot. It’ll cure the blues.” A pretty, wide-eyed girl 
offered him one of the neatest little dope outfits I 
had seen. She had extracted it from a bag she 
carried at her side and the silver case bore her 
initials. 

I gasped. I thought I was blase. That was my 
business. But these girls left me gaping. I knew 
I must get away. 

"Nice little crowd—all nice people. This place 
ought to go, all right,” purred Dorothy with a purr 
a bit thick. 

"It will go all right—until the police stop it,” 
returned Fay, undulating gayly with the soft time¬ 
ful music. 


ATAVAR 


57 


Just about this time a very busy young chap suc¬ 
ceeded in clearing the dancing floor. He had a bril¬ 
liant idea, an obstacle race over the floor for his last 
bottle of Otard—at least he said it was and the label 
said it was. The principal obstacle was Scotch. 

‘^Bully idea, Geofl!” called Fay’s osculatory lover. 

He seized Dorothy Carfax and in the milling mass 
the two struggled to get down the room to the table 
first. 

I had grabbed Fay “Let’s beat it! ” she whispered. 

A moment later we found ourselves again with 
Dorothy Carfax, who was now willing to talk, talk, 
talk. “Walter—don’t go—fun j-just starting. Too 
bad, too bad! Don’t insist. I got to go to a show 
to-night, m’self—you know that show, big spec¬ 
tacle. Now remember my story, dear boy.” Then 
with a vindictive look and a little return of reason 
she took hold of my arm and murmured fiercely, 
“Hawtrey is mine^—mine—all mine!” Hysterically 
she flung her head on the table and began sobbing. 

Fay looked at me desperately. “We can’t leave 
her like this. And I must get to the theater. What 
shall I do?” 

“Cet her wraps. I’ll get her home. Fresh air.” 

By the time Fay came back I had steered Dorothy 
to the door, where she was now clinging to me. No 
one seemed to pay much attention. They were all 
in various stages of the same thing. 

“I’ll have to hurry, Walter. I’ll be late.” 

“You go now, Fay. I’ll get her home. Some 
kick—Fay!” 

Fresh aid and a whirl down the west drive in the 
park did a little good. I left Dorothy in the care 
of her maid at the hotel. 


58 


ATAVAR 


^^A hot bath—^Marie'—massage—I got to go to 
that—that damn show to-night!’^ 

I rejoined Kennedy at the laboratory full of my 
experiences. But Roger Gerard was already there, 
greatly excited. 

I was astounded. It was not the Gerard of the 
forenoon. He was calm enough, but it was outward 
only. 

“You know,'’ he said, turning to me as if repeating 
part of what he had already told Craig, “I told you 
—to the north of the Lisle estate was another—Gor¬ 
don Gaunt’s? He’s hke Hawtrey in one way—a 
newcomer among the old families. . . . Well, I just 
made a discovery—a mortgage—recorded about four 
years ago—three years to run, by its terms—there¬ 
fore, one year past due now.” 

“Well, what’s happened?” asked Craig. 

“Nothing—^yet .. . . But— Oh, I see it all now.” 

Roger slowed up and began talking deliberately, 
as though completing the story he had broken off 
earlier in the day. 

“You see, it was during the time Natalie was at 
finishing school that Gaunt gradually insinuated 
himself until he won the friendship of her father. 
Gaunt has the instincts of the profiteer. He was 
reaching out to grasp all that was within his reach. 
You know, it’s the cardinal principle in Gaunt’s 
philosophy, When I see a thing I want—I take it!’ 

“And as far as John Lisle was concerned, he had 
two things that Gaunt wanted—^his estate because 
it adjoined Gaunt’s, and his daughter because she 
gratified another of his primal instincts. In busi¬ 
ness Gaunt never pays the price. In the Stone Age 
he would have taken both the cave and the daugh- 


ATAVAR 


59 


ter from the old man by sheer force. To-day the 
method must have more finesse, keep within the 
boundaries of the law—^but the thing is the same.^’ 

^That^s an old theory of mine,’’ agreed Kennedy. 
^The rules change, but the game is the same.” 

^^Consequently” nodded Gerard ^Vhen Gaunt 
reached out for the Lisle estate the method did not 
take the form of buying—nor even of marrying. I 
understand now. Once having insinuated himself 
into the confidence of old John Lisle, it did not take 
Gaunt long to learn that while, outwardly. Lisle was 
among the old landed aristocracy, so to speak, in 
reality he was dand poor.’ And it didn’t take Gaunt 
long to shape things to the point where he became 
the apparent benefactor of Lisle by loaning him a 
pretty fair sum of money on a mortgage on Lisle 
Manor. But, Kennedy, there was more to it. This 
was the first step in Gaunt’s—Gaunt’s proprietary 
interest in Natalie!” 

Gerard resumed his pacing the laboratory floor. 
In his evening clothes, his opera coat still on, but 
flying, as he gestured, he seemed like a tragedian 
off the boards of a generation past. 

^Then Natalie went to college, unknown to her¬ 
self, on a part of the proceeds of that mortgage! 
She managed tO' scrape through; she’ll tell you that 
herself. That was the time when Gaunt and Haw- 
trey had one encounter over Fay Blythe and 
Hawtrey won her away. Then Hawtrey engineered 
the Carfaxes into a friendship with Fay, and that’s 
how he won Dorothy Carfax. Now he’s getting tired 
of her. She’ll go—and he has set his eyes on 
Natalie.” 

He strode over to the window and stood looking 


60 ATAVAR 

out, his fingers working as he stared at the winking 
lights. 

'‘But it was Gaunt you started to tell me about/* 
recalled Kennedy, glancing hastily at his watch. 

"Yes.** Gerard returned and stood before us, 
talking rapidly. "It was about the time I went 
abroad. I made a flying visit to the States. I had 
nearly completed my studies abroad. And I had 
learned that it was Natalie who fulfilled the love 
dream—for me. . . . 

"At the same time came a vacation from college 
to Natalie. It came with a great shock to me that 
Hawtrey, whom I now met for the first time. Haw- 
trey who had acquired from me my father*s estate, 
had in some way acquired a hold upon Natalie, who 
in my dreams as I was planning my career I always 
associated with myself in the future. 

"And then I met Gaunt, too. Instinctively it 
seemed to me that Gaunt recognized in me an enemy 
... It began with his recognition that there is a 
different social fineness in us. Amass millions in 
oil, absorb the power of a magnate, crash his way 
into any set—and still Gaunt knew that I possessed 
something that he would never possess. If he were 
a foreigner I would say that he lacked what centuries 
of Anglo-Saxon restraint and power have given. 
Anyhow, it came like a clash in a play to me to 
realize that not only were our natures conflicting, 
but that we came to grips on a matter most vital 
to both of us—^Natalie.** 

Somehow, Roger fascinated me as he spoke. I 
could not help thinking that at the same time 
Natalie*s struggle with her dual nature had become 
more bitter. It must Have been about that time 


ATAVAR 


61 


that she realized that in those moods when she loved 
Roger she hated Hawtrey or Gaunt, anyone who 
stood for that type. And in those moods when she 
cared for Hawtrey or felt Gaunt’s power she hated 
Roger. Year by year hers was a life of growing 
self-conflict in her moods. 

^^You see,” continued Roger in a low voice, “it 
was after another of those night encounters in which 
she had shown her intense hatred of me that I myself 
awoke. In some men I suppose it would have 
wrecked love. But in me it created a greater love— 
a love that could bear and forbear—and fight! 

“For, Kennedy, I had uncovered the germ of the 
dream-dance complex in Natalie. My psychoanaly¬ 
sis of Natahe’s dreams revealed her to me. . . . 
And I knew enough about both these fellows to 
know that instinctively both Hawtrey and Gaunt 
knew vaguely the thing of which I was gaining the 
clew. ... 

“As I studied, revealing what I could to her, in 
such a way as to help her and put her on her guard, 
there developed during this summer in me a deep 
purpose, a great love. Not even the events and sus¬ 
picions that would have wrecked another love shook 
it. 

“I don’t know whether you realized it or not, but 
by psychoanalysis of myself I had arrived at the 
fact that, contrary to all the logic of my dead father 
and of his friend, it was Natalie who held the un- 
escapable fascination for me. Comparing her with 
other girls, I realized that Natalie was inspiration 
to me. All this was going on in my life while the 
struggle of her dual nature was growing daily more 
intense in her own soul.” 


62 


ATAVAR 


Gerard seemed to grip his feelings. ^Then the 
sudden shock of conflict with Gaunt brought the 
reality to me of the peril with which affairs were 
fraught to Natalie—and the tragedy to me.'' It was 
not the altruistic doctor talking. Love is selfish, 
jealous, bitterly so, and unrelenting. 

^To me," he resumed, ‘^even the hatred moods of 
Natalie meant much. For in my studies of psycho¬ 
analysis I knew clearly the closeness of the two great 
emotions—^love and hate. . . . 

was thinking it all out from the standpoint 
of Natahe's own happiness as well as my own. Well, 
as the vacation drew to a close I began to reahze that 
I must, in some way, substitute myself for the 
Hawtrey—the night, dream-dance complex—or 
rather substitute myself in that complex of Natalie. 

^^Then at last came the end of the vacation, when 
Natalie must return to college and I to my studies 
in France. At college, at least she would be re¬ 
moved from the physical influence of Hawtrey and 
Gaunt. As for myself, I had gathered my data, so 
to speak, and now made one high resolve to return 
to the fountain of psychic study—to learn how the 
physician of the mind might heal himself and his 
own." 

Kennedy said nothing. I saw him watching 
Roger narrowly. I would have given much to get a 
ghmpse of what was in Gerard's mind, for he really 
was a profound student. As a lover he seemed even 
deeper. But for a glimpse into Kennedy's mind 
with such a client before him I would have given 
anything except the power to set forth what I saw. 
He made some remark about Hawtrey and Gaunt. 

^WeU," flared back Roger, ‘‘Hawtrey didn't in- 


ATAVAR 63 

terfere with either of us. But there^s this new 
complication—Gaunt and the mortgage. . . . 

^^Gaunt saw her at college—a dancer—a phe¬ 
nomenon not often developed outside the stern 
training of the theater. . , . Everything seemed to 
play into his hands; it does with that type. The 
college year had not closed before the hand of death 
suddenly removed John Lisle, leaving Natahe an 
orphan—with a sad inheritance. Now I learn that 
her father bequeathed to her little except the mort¬ 
gage that Gaunt holds over the estate. It was 
another step in the ownership of Gaunt. She is not 
rich. She—— 

Gerard stopped, hopelessly afraid to go on. 

^^She told me,^^ put in Craig, ‘^that it was at a col¬ 
lege pageant, some charity affair, just before her 
fathers death, that she had been discovered by 
Wagner, who made a very flattering offer for her 
appearance in the spectacle he was preparing.’^ 

“Yes,’^ cut in Gerard, bitterly. ‘Wagner was a 
friend of Gaunt’s. Then after her father died I sup¬ 
pose they let a decent interval pass and renewed the 
offer. Craig, it’s not so much that she must dance 
for her own salvation. I can stand that. . . . She 
must dance for a livelihood!” He paused as though 
words would not express the alternative, then raced 
on as though the alternative were not even to be 
thought. 

“You know ... I think I told you ... if Nata¬ 
he ever expected me to share in the opposition of 
many of her friends about her taking up stage 
dancing as a vocation, she was surprised. For as I 
watched her I saw with some satisfaction that my 
latest study was humanly correct for her. I heartily 



64 


ATAVAR 


approved her decision. I knew that it would solve 
the problem by relieving the secret springs of the 
subconscious, by expressing a counterpart of the 
unwholesome emotions through the channels of her 
conscious mind. . . . But ... I did not know 
about this mortagage . . . then . . . past due . . . 
unpaid. . . . 

^^My God! Everywhere I turn I see menace for 
Natalie. . . . 

^There is Hawtrey, keen in rivalry; there is the 
insinuation of Inger Dean as a sort of duenna; there 
is the polo pony—a hundred things. . . . 

‘^And now . . . there is Gaunt . . . and his or¬ 
chids . . . and that mortgage!'’ 

Gerard had worked himself back to pacing the 
laboratory furiously. 

^^Come, Roger. Walter, we’ll have to jump over 
to the apartment.” Kennedy snapped his watch. 
^We’ll have to dress in a rush, if we’re going to that 
show. As it is, we’ve missed dinner.” 

Kennedy’s show of energy seemed to lend tem¬ 
porary relief to Gerard, who had been ready for an 
hour. 

As for me, I saw now back of the triumph of 
having been chosen for “Astarte” a shadow of 
tragedy cast athwart Natalie—from the old days at 
Lisle Manor, where in her very girlhood she had 
first begun to wrestle with the titanic forces that 
were now coming to death grips at the supreme 
moment of her career. 


CHAPTER IV 


THE SPECTACLE 

It was a gorgeous night at the American Opera. 
Everything was auspicious. 

At some first nights there is a more eager air of 
expectancy than others. This was the kind of night 
that enhanced the beauty of women; no cross lines 
over rumpled locks or blowy gowns. The myriad 
soft lights about the American cast a warm glow 
over the beautiful faces of the women and seemed 
to accentuate the blackness of the clothes of the 
men in contrast with the brilliant coloring of the 
wraps and gowns of the ladies. 

There was the constant hum of motors as they 
drew up to the curb to discharge merry groups of 
people, gay laughter, bright faces, subdued voices of 
matrons strongly intrenched by birth and position 
in the city’s society and trying to steer the young 
through the social channels that grow more perilous 
each year. 

Over everything was good nature and the promise 
of a memorable evening. Had not Wagner been 
telling through the newspapers that this was to be 
his big effort of the year? 

Of course every man was there, every man who 
was fortunate enough to possess at least two tickets 
for the premiere of ^^Astarte.” And these girls hold- 
65 


66 


ATAVAR 


ing the arms of these men with an elemental joy of 
being possessed, they were in harmony with the 
evening. 

Never was such an audience as had gathered to 
witness the opening of the much-heralded ''Astarte.'' 
Critics and censors and sob-sisters mixed with 
society, high, low, and demi. 

We were to sit unobtrusively in a box with Roger 
Gerard. Roger was nervous, Kennedy was intent, 
and I was exhilarated by the v/ealth of pretty faces. 

^Kverybody^s here!’^ I exclaimed. 

^^Yes, everybody connected with Natalie’s dilem¬ 
ma,” returned Gerard, speaking rather to Kennedy. 
^Kverybody who might have a sinister influence on 
her is here. Look . . . over there is Gaunt and a 
party in a box. Natalie told me Hawtrey has a 
box, to-night, too.” 

“W^ho is the woman sitting alone in the box across 
the way?” asked Craig. 

^^My word!” I exclaimed. ^That’s Mrs. Carfax!” 
In our own rooms, briefly, while Craig and I were 
dressing, I had told him of my encounter. 

Roger gasped. ^There comes Hawtrey—in the 
same box. What do you make of that?” 

^^Did you get that look he gave her as he 
came in?” 

'^It must be Hawtrey’s box.” 

^^No roses ever came with a look like that!” ex¬ 
claimed Roger, thoughtfully. “Hawtrey could shake 
off Fay Blythe and snub Inger Dean and many 
others like them, when he was through with them. 
But Dorothy Carfax will fight. I know her type. 
She is selfish to the core. She loves him—not like 


ATAVAR 67 

Inger—a silbmissive love. Look at her—active— 
almost maliciously active 

Kennedy puckered his eyes thoughtfully. “Some¬ 
how, I believe her presence there is a surprise. I 
wonder how she managed it? Hawtrey’s making 
the best of it^—^but I don^t beheve he likes it a bit.” 

I glanced over at Gaunt’s box. Roger saw me 
looking. “That man to the left in the back is Car- 
fax,” he pointed out. 

“So?” I returned. “Neither of them has any use 
for the Carfaxes—^but it looks as if they might use 
them!” 

“Astarte” was a triumph for Wagner, for the 
dazzling cast, and above all for Natalie. 

To some it was a spectacle of Babylon. But to 
Natalie it was more than to anyone else. For back 
of it was her own inordinate desire to dance, the 
raising of her dream dancing to the sublimity of art. 
To Gaunt it must have meant a step in advance 
toward his ownership of Natalie. I wondered what 
it meant to Hawtrey. I felt that it must be physical, 
physiological—that and nothing more. But to 
Gerard, as a lover and as a scientist, it was both the 
universal expression of the sense of rhythm and 
beauty and it was the harmless outlet for the primi¬ 
tive instinct of the animal world by which he prayed 
to save the soul of this passionate creature. 

Wagner knew how to build for sensation, opening 
in the temple of the Babylonian Venus, where 
merged the passion of sex with the fervor of religion. 
I cared nothing for the historic, the archa3ological. 
What impressed me was his striving to achieve the 
fundamental, primitive, psychological. 

From the temple with its consecrated women. 


68 


ATAVAR 


whose office it was to submit to the embraces of men 
on payment of an offering to the divinity, he led us 
back to Ishtar of Babylon, of Assyria, the great 
Sumerian goddess of fertility, the life force of 
Shamash, the sun god, to Sin, the moon god. 

Came at last the supreme spectacle, the sun dance, 
the union of Baal, the hairy man-god and Ashtoreth, 
Ishtar, Astarte, as he had chosen to denominate her. 

When Natalie came on the stage, I think I never 
saw a more beautiful entrance for a star. The back 
drop was black—intense black with the exception of 
the upper left corner, the west, where was one pierc¬ 
ing twinkling light, a star that still glowed, the last 
suggestion of night. 

The stage was in deep shadow. Somber figures 
could be seen moving gropingly, piteously about. 

Suddenly the music changed. A joyful motif was 
introduced. The lights were so thrown on the back 
drop that a golden red followed successively by 
oranges, deep yellows, and glowing pinks made the 
stage a mass of gorgeous color. Hanging from above 
were glittering streamers of metal that reflected all 
the brilliance of light. It was the riot of color seen 
above the line of the horizon just before the sun 
appears. 

In the fight revealed from the former darkness 
could be seen the stalwart figure of the god, Baal. 
It seemed that personality, intense fervor, and ex¬ 
altation shone from his eyes. In him was the 
strongest earthly force—the primal instinct of the 
world—the man to mate with a maid. 

He seemed awed by the beauty of color. The 
shadows had flown. Now all was glory. Gradually 
there rose what looked like a fiery sun from the 


ATAVAR 


69 


depths of the rear of the setting. Slowly, slowly now 
it rose until imperceptibly it came to a stop. Shin¬ 
ing in the faces of the audience was a wonderful 
sunrise. Birds twittered in the trees. Baal raised 
his arms in adoration. 

Slowly the ball of fire opened—and there was 
Natalie—Astarte—love'—life! 

She was fast asleep—a golden sleep—her golden 
curls, her golden draperies, her golden couch. 

Murmuring prayers, bowing in deep reverence, 
Baal approached her. He took her hand and leaned 
over, passionately kissing her snow-white bosom—as 
bringing to life the life-giving food of the world. 

Astarte awoke, suddenly, not with fear. She saw 
her lover-god, and gave him her hand. He helped 
her down from the dais on which rested the golden 
couch in the golden sun. 

With the crash of the music she danced, danced 
such a dance as was never seen even on that stage 
before. She was not suggesting—she was primal in¬ 
stinct. Her other nature was to the fore and she 
danced as never maiden in any time danced more 
enthrallingly for lover. 

She would leap lightly to his side and with a 
caressing look would almost meet his outstretched 
arms when—again, with another leap she would be 
across the stage. It was the game of love and 
Astarte was being won. Smiling through golden 
clouds of chiffon her feet scarcely touched the stage. 
The audience was wild with sensuous delight. Was 
she real or was she sprite? 

Suddenly Baal seized her. His arms encircled 
her. He held her. With overwhelming longing he 


70 


ATAVAR 


crushed her form to his. Slowly, struggling more 
and more limply, she surrendered to his embrace. 

RhythmicaUy swaying together, he led her to her 
golden couch and as they sank the ball of fire disap¬ 
peared—but daylight and life and joy remained— 
the throbbing world of love. 

After the spectacle, surfeited with the glamour, 
Kennedy, Roger, and I made our way amidst the 
^ rustle of silks and delicately scented air to the green¬ 
room, where smiles gleamed over white teeth, dark 
eyes sparkled and drooped and flashed up again in 
flame, and all was flutter and glitter, grace and 
animation, quivering, sonorous, passionate, seduc¬ 
tive. 

All that brilliant cast crowded about Natalie— 
not now because she was Natahe Lisle, the pet of 
society in which she moved by her birthright, but 
sheerly for the spontaneity and sincerity of her art. 
It was something that had never before entranced 
the dance-crazed public even in the long succession 
of historic offerings of the great producer and im¬ 
presario, Wagner. 

In the center of the mass, beside Natalie, stood 
Wagner, and with him Gaunt, in this setting in 
reality a handsome specimen of manhood. Gaunt 
seemed to enjoy to the keenest the adulation of the 
little dancer. But more, I fancied, he betrayed a 
sort of pride of possession, as it were, of the lithe, 
graceful Natalie. Nor could Natalie, surrounded by 
the company, conceal the thrill of the commenda^- 
tion of the great Wagner. It was the moment for 
which she had lived. 

Through the crowd I caught sight of Carfax. He 
seemed searching for some one. At last he caught 


ATAVAR 71 

the eye of the one he sought and waved. I turned. 
It was Fay, and, involuntarily, I exclaimed. 

^^Humphr^ gritted Roger. told you that; I 
told you that Hawtrey had quarreled with Carfax 
over his wife and that I believed Carfax had re¬ 
venged himself by taking up with the little dancer, 
Faj^ Blythe. It was really all engineered by Haw¬ 
trey, I am convinced.’^ 

‘‘But,^^ I blurted, ‘Tay and his wife Dorothy are 
such friends! He must have kept it under cover, 
then!” 

^^I suppose so . . . the little gold-digger!” 

I was inclined to resent the cavalier condemnar 
tion of Fay, but on reflection I reconsidered. What 
really did I know yet of Fay any more than of 
Javary with whom I had heard Carfax—or, for that 
matter, of Dorothy Carfax herself? 

In my preoccupation in the press I was momen¬ 
tarily separated from Kennedy and Roger. 

“I^m sorry!” I turned. There was Dorothy Car- 
fax herself. The bath, the message, and time had 
eliminated the worse effects of the Scotch. Yet it 
had left her high-keyed, which the excitement of the 
spectacle and of the throbbing throng had not 
decreased. She had been following some one so 
intently that she had run into me. 

^Dh! Mr. Jameson—I didnT quite recognize you 
at first.” I noted the formality and smiled to my¬ 
self. Scotch had made us ^Walter” and ^^Dot” only 
a few hours before. I glanced about hastily for 
Hawtrey, but he was not at her side. Evidently he 
had contrived to give her the slip on some pretext. 

^^Looking for some one. Dot?” I asked, determined 


72 


ATAVAR 


that an intimacy so auspiciously started should not 
die for the want of spirituous encouragement. 

She shrugged her pretty shoulders noncommit- 
ally. ^^Call me to-morrow, Walter, and get the 
whole story—letters and photographs, will you? 
That’s a dear boy!” 

I promised, but the promise was scarcely out of 
my lips when a feminine oath blazed from her. 

‘The little-” She cut short. 

I swung about expecting to see nothing less than 
Hawtrey with Natalie. Indeed, I saw Carfax leaning 
over Fay. 

“So! That’s what’s been going on! Well, young 
lady, you can act off the stage, too!” She paused 
only a moment, as if an intuition had flashed over 
her. “Did Guy Hawtrey introduce us all so that he 
could . . She stopped her thinking aloud. “I 
wonder,” she murmured, then suddenly stiffened. 
“Don’t forget. Call me in the forenoon. . . . Let¬ 
ters and photographs . . . good story, Walter.” 

I felt that I was on the trail of a good story, too, 
and that something was going to break soon. What¬ 
ever their marital differences, there was one bond 
between the Carfaxes—Norman’s hatred of Hawtrey 
and Dot’s jealousy of Hawtrey and Natalie. How 
Fay complicated it I did not figure, yet. 

I came upon Roger and Kennedy by merest 
chance at the moment when Natalie was turning 
toward her dressing room. 

“Why—er—Roger!” 

“Even in my wildest dreams I never pictured such 
a triumph as this, Natalie!” 

“I’m so glad!” 

The words were colorless. But there was nothing 



ATAVAR 


73 


colorless about Natalie herself. It was as though 
somehow Roger stood for conscience. As for Roger, 
I noted an ominous increase in the suppressed 
excitement of the forenoon in the library, of the 
evening in the laboratory, and later at the show. 

At that moment Natalie caught the dominating 
eyes of Hawtrey as the brilliant motley of the crowd 
instinctively made way for him. 

Ardently Hawtrey spoke of the glory of her suc¬ 
cess., Yet there was a smile on his handsome face 
as he bent over her that was a riddle. Natalie 
seemed to be swept into a trance for a moment by 
the overwhelming greeting of Hawtrey. There was 
nothing spiritual about the contact. His very touch 
awakened in her a response, it seemed, that no hand 
of all those in the greenroom inspired. She seemed 
whirled into a vortex of passion. 

For the flash of an instant Natalie could not con¬ 
ceal the conflict within herself inspired by these two 
men. It was as though two natures within herself 
responded to them, as though she must put forth a 
superhuman effort, as if one nature turned from its 
response to Roger and refused to let her go while 
another leaped from the leash to respond to Haw¬ 
trey. Beside the slender girl the eyes of the two 
men met in an encounter that was portentous. 

Hawtrey, as he spoke, laid his hand on the arm of 
Natahe. He talked with studied ease of other 
things, but his action was as though to show her and 
the world and above all Roger the invisible lines of 
force, stronger than from any magnet, that drew the 
nature of Natalie irresistibly to himself like a human 
armature. 

With an equally studied absent-mindedness Roger 


74 


ATAVAR 


made some reply to Hawtrey and turned to Natalie. 
As he did so he took her hand in such a manner as 
to cause Hawtrey^s hand to slide off her arm. His 
was the antithesis of Hawtrey’s greeting. 

In Natahe’s face now one might have detected the 
struggle of her two natures. Instantly responded 
the other, the suppressed self of Natalie, as though 
in its exclusion it had received reinforcements. Then 
for an instant the wonderfully expressive face of 
Natalie masked the raging conflict that was within 
her. 

How far the conflict of the two men or of the two 
natures within the slight girl would have gone, it is 
difficult to say. Hawtrey, sidewise, had caught 
sight of a woman with a wrap who was standing 
apart from the rest. At an almost imperceptible 
motion of his hand she came forward and threw the 
wrap over the exquisite shoulders of the little 
dancer, whispering as she did so something about 
the draughts. 

‘^Yes—Inger—I shall be with you—directly!” 

A second later Natalie released her hand from the 
grasp of Roger, flashed a glance at Hawtrey, then 
flew down the corridor to her dressing room, leaving 
the two men with eyes that shot rapier glances. 

I studied the bitter hostihty of Roger and Hawtrey 
as I thought of the photograph Roger had sent her 
in the afternoon and his heightening suppressed 
emotion ever since he had come to the laboratory in 
the twilight. 

I feel that perhaps I may be pardoned if I set 
forth a picture, best in my own words—^bridging the 
gap of what Inger later told us and Natalie's self- 
revelation to Kennedy. 


ATAVAR 


75 


I give it as much as anything else as a study in 
Natalie’s strange personality, which, after all, is a 
personality that, I think, exists in many to-day. 

Wide-eyed, Natalie in her dressing room seemed 
to fight as if with an ever-present menace. She 
gazed in frightened stare at herself in the mirror. 

And as she gazed she fancied she saw the specter 
of Hawtrey with his barbarian magnetism gazing 
fixedly at her over her delicate shoulder. She 
shuddered. 

The photograph of Roger Gerard on her dressing 
table caught her eye. It seemed to stretch out from 
the childhood past to her an ennobling love. In¬ 
stinctively she felt that with his help she could con¬ 
quer this horror of her baser self. She found herself 
almost pleading with this picture to rescue her— 
‘^from the bogs.” 

As the surge of her feehngs swayed her, Natalie 
caught no glimpse of the understanding of Inger. 
This duenna, neither old nor young, had paused to 
watch cynically the passionate struggle in the little 
solo dancer. Not, if Natalie had seen, could she 
have gathered from this woman her true feelings. 
For as she watched the dancer and her eyes fell on 
the picture, Inger was, as always, inscrutable. 

Even as something in Natalie’s soul seemed to 
call in appeal to the picture of Roger, the Hawtrey 
influence—in the very dressing room where was no 
one else save Inger—became again predominant. 
In a fury of incarnate ecstasy Natahe flung the pic¬ 
ture from her and gave way to a paroxysm of pri¬ 
meval passion. Inger’s inscrutable face watched 
cynically the younger woman. 

It was as though Natalie in her paroxysm had 


76 


ATAVAR 


traveled in an instant the long road to yesterday. 
The very room seemed peopled with a host of savage 
sun-worshiping Druids—the spirits of her Stone Age 
progenitors rampant in her surging blood—until— 
as she grew calmer, the ghosts of these gloating, evil 
ancestors seemed driven away by the advent, of a 
group of crusaders and pilgrims of a later age, 
emblematic of her better self. 

Twenty minutes later we joined the gay groups 
leaving the theater bound for the after-theater dance 
and supper palaces. I could not well have imagined 
Roger going voluntarily to such places, nor, for that 
matter, Kennedy or myself. Three men unescorted 
by the ladies are decidedly out of place in them. 
But the mention of the supper party at the Gilded 
Lily was all that was necessary. Wild horses could 
not have kept Roger away. 

Coming in as we did in the wake of GaunCs 
‘^Astarte’^ crowd, for which, it seemed, he had made 
liberal reservations, to the vast delight of the man¬ 
agement, we narrowly escaped being seated at “ring¬ 
side” seats like the rest. Instead, Kennedy chose a 
quieter table in a sort of nook, not far away, but on a 
platform raised about a foot above the tables below, 
a location from which we could better watch than 
be watched. 

The Gilded Lily was most famous and recherche 
of the Broadway jazz palaces. In one corner was a 
platform erected to hold the musicians. A strong 
column of iron, very heavy, but in proportion quite 
slender, gave the platform the necessary support in 
the center. Branching from this central column, 
riveted to it, were lateral supports. Over this 
framework had been placed a fluted covering of 


ATAVAR 77 

plaster, and the whole when gilded over resembled a 
gigantic hly—hence the name. 

Here an exclusive but very smart and sporty set 
gamboled away the hours of the early morning, 
often until daylight, police permitting. Many a 
divorce could be traced to the polished floor of the 
Gilded Lily. It was ultra-smart. Popular actresses, 
lively members of the younger set, adventurous 
matrons of all ages, came to make eyes and be held 
in the close embraces of the camel walk, the toddle, 
the shimmy, whatever happened to be the prevailing 
mode in dancing, petting, parking, cheek to jowl, or 
steps and positions yet to be invented. 

Around the dancing floor dainty lacquered tables 
were placed on which beautiful arms and hands 
passed silver flasks and whole glass bottles—when 
the law was looking another way at the passing of 
yellow-backs or, in those brief shake-up intervals of 
reform, was so busy with the vastness of watching 
the personal habits of six million people that it 
would have taken twelve million eyes to watch those 
six and an added twelve to watch the watchers. 

Many shapely legs and dainty feet tapped tender 
messages under the tables while the owners were 
seated in those attractive chairs. In every way it 
was going to the devil with much more finesse and 
dispatch than in palmiest pre-prohibition days. 

Drinking now has the same thrill that speeding in 
defiance of all laws and ordinances has for the 
young. They are both pleasant things to do and 
they are both forbidden. What was of itself falling 
into merited disrepute thus has been made fashion¬ 
able and smart by a very ill-considered effort to 
stop what would have stopped itself. As I heard 


78 


ATAVAR 


wafted to me from a table not far off, 'The only way 
we can get personal liberty is to teach the girls our 
vices 

Everywhere were fun and excitement. People 
were cheering and clapping Kalani, begging for more 
of her wonderful dancing. She was mistress of the 
hula-hula. 

Suddenly a ripple of conversation had passed 
about the great room. Young men and old stood up 
and watched the party cross the floor. Natalie's 
success had been the chief topic of conversation at 
the Gilded Lily for the last half hour—and here she 
was! Kalani was forgotten. A new queen was 
reigning—^Natalie . Lisle. 

Gay banter, happy laughter, shouted words of 
congratulation and praise followed Natalie tO' the 
tables reserved for her party. It was under this 
cover that we had stolen our own vantage point. 

Flushed with success and excitement, Natalie was 
a perfect picture of radiant girlhood. Only an artist 
with love in his heart, like Roger, could have painted 
her. She outshone the others as only natural 
beauty, grace, and youth can outshine things 
artiflcial. 

Gaunt was at her side, proud of his campanion. 
He was flattered by the commotion her very en¬ 
trance made. They had hardly been seated when a 
very jazzy effort on the part of the orchestra was 
drawing the young people to the floor. Gaunt 
waved everyone aside and with a very proprietary 
air danced away with Natalie. 

There was the usual conf usion of passing between 
tables and the dance was well along before I noticed 
that without a word Roger had risen and had made 


ATAVAR 


79 


his way among the couples and groups further down 
the line. Kennedy motioned with his head as he 
saw that I had caught it, and I followed the nod to 
locate Roger standing near the doorway. He was 
following Natalie with his eyes, longing and con¬ 
cern, almost fear, in every glance. Indeed, he was 
such a somber figure in this palace of mirth that I 
could not help but compare him to one of Mr. 
Powers’s Httle ^^Glooms.” He seemed to want to be 
by himself. He did not even want to remain 
with us. 

^'He could compose the 'Roger Blues,’ ” smiled 
Craig thoughtfully, but still with seeming anxiety 
keeping a watch on Gerard. 

"Ain’t love grand?” I countered, myself much 
worried. 

When the dance was over and Natalie and Gaunt 
came back to their places, Hawtrey drew his chair 
nearer hers. I saw her fiush as he leaned over and 
she caught the passion of his glance. She knew that 
he was trying to awaken in her the night-loving 
Natalie, trying to stir all her wild emotions by his 
presence. The nocturnal Natalie wanted to respond 
. . . but was afraid. 

Gaunt claimed her the moment the music started 
again. 

"Say, old chap, let some one else have a chance to 
shine in the reflected light of the star!” Hawtrey 
was suave, but defiance and hate of Gaunt were in 
his eyes. 

Gaunt accepted the challenge. Natalie hesitated, 
but Gaunt settled the matter by turning his back 
quickly almost in Hawtrey’s face, quickly holding 
Natalie and moving away with her in a dreamy. 


80 


ATAVAR 


sensuous waltz. As he moved away a laugh pro¬ 
voking Hawtrey to desperation floated back over 
Gaunt's shoulder. 

Hawtrey rose; checked himself. 

'That’s not what you did when you wanted me,” 
teased Fay. "You beaned that boob!” 

Hawtrey moved impatiently. 

Suddenly he cut across the dance floor as several 
other fellows had done, to divide dances, and almost 
before Gaunt knew what it was all about, Hawtrey 
had Natalie in a love chnch that would never have 
passed censorship. 

"You-!” ground out Gaunt. 

He took a few steps in Natalie’s direction. But 
good-natured guying by the crowd made him desist. 
He muttered to himself, but his eyes never left the 
couple. 

It was a dance finished in semidarkness and the 
last few minutes in total darkness—the vanishing 
dance. The young liked it and the older dancers 
loved it. It gave the young a chance and the older 
and more sophisticated a certainty. It was popular. 

"Craig—I’m trying to see what everybody is 
doing!” I exclaimed. 

"Just keep your eye on Roger—that’s all!” He 
seemed himself to fade away. 

I wormed my way toward the door. 

Watching in the darkness did no good. I ran 
upon Craig by accident, having circled the dancing 
space. 

"I’m afraid” he whispered, "Natalie and Hawtrey 
have gone.. . . I can’t find them!” 

Just then the room was flooded with light. I 
looked to see Roger where I had spotted him and 


ATAVAR 


81 


thought I had held him in the darkness. can’t 
see him, Craig!” I cried. look for him in the 

corridor and dressing room!” 

When I came up to Craig again, he was making 
fruitless inquiries of the coat-check girls at the door 
and the taxi starter. 

^‘Gaunt has vanished, too!” he exclaimed. 
^There’s hardly one left at the tables they had! 
You needn’t tell me Roger has gone. I read it on 
your face before you saw me!” 

“Well, that was a vanishing dance!” I exclaimed. 

“I’m afraid,” remarked Kennedy as we slowly 
walked up Broadway—“I’m afraid to-night Nata¬ 
lie’s eyes will be opened—and she’ll not like what 
she sees.” 

I said nothing. Somehow, I felt a great uneasi¬ 
ness over Roger. I had an ominous foreboding that 
it was the fatal night for Natalie. 


CHAPTER V 


THE CRIME 

Craig was just about to leave our apartment for 
the laboratory in the morning when a messenger 
boy with a note pushed at the buzzer. 

As Kennedy took the note and signed for it, I 
caught sight of an early-morning edition of an after¬ 
noon paper which the boy had evidently picked up 
on the subway or street car. I gasped as I read the 
headline: ^^Hawtrey, Man of a Hundred Loves, 
Slain 

I seized the paper. 

Guy Hawtrey, man about town, yachtsman and golfer, 
society gambler, and known as a “dealer in hearts,” was 
found dead in his “den” in his West End Avenue town house 
early this morning by his valet, Javary. 

I turned to Kennedy with the note. ^Tt^s from 
Doctor Leslie,’^ he said, shoving it toward me. ^^You 
remember him—medical adviser to the district 
attorney?’’ 

It read: 

Kennedy: Ko doubt you have seen the Hawtrey case in 
the first editions. I need you. Come immediately. 

Leslie. 

It was still early when we got to the West End 
Avenue house of Hawtrey. The police were there; 

82 


ATAVAR 


83 


so were half a dozen reporters from the evening 
papers, terrible as an army with cameras. A burly 
sergeant blocked the door. 

‘‘Doctor Leshe?’^ inquired Kennedy laconically. 

“Leslie!’^ called in the sergeant, gruffly, not for¬ 
getting the latent feud between headquarters and 
the district attorney's office. 

Down the stairs came a voice: “Kennedy! Glad 
to see you!’’ 

In the lower hall Leslie, an active little man, the 
most practical savant in criminology I have ever 
met save Kennedy, chatted eagerly for a moment, 
pouring forth a wealth of practical details. 

“Who was here when it happened?” asked Ken¬ 
nedy, quickly. 

^‘I don’t know; Javary, Hawtrey’s valet, perhaps 
—although he says he was out all night and didn’t 
come in till seven o’clock; says he has a perfect 
alibi. Inger Dean, housekeeper to Hawtrey has 
a room on the top floor. . . 

“Any others—outsiders?” 

Leslie shrugged. “I don’t know—^yet. The police 
have given Javary a grilling. You know he was the 
valet, took care of Hawtrey’s effects. Well, they 
found a chiffonier—full of women’s apparel. On the 
top was a hastily folded pair of Billie Burkes. 
Javary swears he did not put them there—that is, 
not last night. He swears they are folded dif¬ 
ferently!” 

Leshe was leading us to the “den,” the big front 
room on the second floor. 

As he flung open the door I started and gripped 
my breath. 

There was Hawtrey himself—starmg, stony, 


84 ATAVAR 

silent—in a big armchair before a wicker table in 
his den—dead! 

Beside him I saw a pool of blood on the floor. 

A grim, mocking smile seemed frozen on his face. 
What lurked back of that ghastly smile? 

Hastily I took in the fact that there was china 
on the table, also a percolator, a chafing dish, a 
bottle, and two glasses. 

As I looked away to escape that stony smile, I 
saw it was altogether a strange, weird setting, this 
about the murdered Hawtrey. 

A plain-clothes detective poked his head in the 
door. ^‘Inspector Dunphy,^^ introduced Leslie. 

Kennedy shook hands and recalled our old friend 
Deputy O'Connor, whom we had seen rise from ser¬ 
geant to his present eminence as head of the detec¬ 
tive bureau. 

^^Glad to know you . . . always glad to know 
friends of the commissioner," returned Dunphy. 

Craig made a quick examination of the bullet 
wound. ^‘No gun?" he asked, without looking up. 

^‘No, not yet," replied Dunphy. 

^^But—that hole in the wall." 

^Trobed it out already," put in Leshe. ‘The bul¬ 
let—a thirty-eight." 

I regarded the distorted slug of metal in Leslie's 
palm. It was all very creepy. 

Then I dropped my eyes to the glasses—one 
empty before Hawtrey, the other about half full—a 
shaker, and the half-empty bottle. Dunphy must 
have seen me looking. 

“Say," Dunphy drawled, “that bird had some 
enemies! You know his real business, don't you? 
Well, we do . . . rum runner!" He paused and 


ATAVAR 


85 


turned back toward the door. ^The cellar—that’s 
a rum runner’s castle! We’ll take a look now.” 
Dunphy left to continue his search. 

‘Wou say Javary and Inger Dean are here?” 
asked Craig. 

‘‘I wish you would question them and see if you 
can get anything more out of them than the in¬ 
spector and myself can. They’re as tight as clams 
when it comes to getting any real information out 
of them. I don’t know whether they’re scared to 
death for fear they’ll be implicated or whether 
they’ve been threatened and bribed—or what.” 

Kennedy said nothing. He stood for a few sec¬ 
onds, his hand on his forehead, his head leaned for¬ 
ward, his eyes closed. It was as though he were 
trying to think over events calmly, mentally alone 
in the room, Craig’s rare gift of concentration. 

^‘Leslie”—swinging around suddenly—^Vill you 
let me handle this absolutely my way—for your 
office? There is more to this than it seems—on the 
surface. Use your influence with the inspector . . . 
no sudden arrests . . . will you?” 

‘Tf you let me give the tip when to gather them 
in—take the case. Whenever I take you into my 
confldence I always come out with a point or two 
to my credit at headquarters. Let’s go!” 

A moment later Leslie had left the den to sum¬ 
mon the two servants. Kennedy turned to examine 
the room minutely. I felt a bit shuddery. There 
was that thing, with the mocking grin. I looked 
away. 

A rugged, red-blooded type demands at least one 
room in his dwelling that accords with his nature. 
Such was the den of Hawtrey. 


86 


ATAVAR 


Here was no library denoting the litterateur; no 
artist’s palettes, stands, brushes, or other evidences 
of an artistic temperament; no piano or other mu¬ 
sical instrument; no impedimenta of culture. 

It was a room crowded with the spoils and arma¬ 
ment of the chase. Heads of wild game and stuffed 
birds adorned the walls and cases. In a rack guns 
immaculately clean, oily, and shiny, each arranged 
neatly in its own place, weapons of all descriptions. 
Riding boots, saddles, crops were scattered about as 
a man too busy to arrange things himself is likely to 
throw them. 

Yet the man had a sense of humor as to his pecu¬ 
liar brand of culture. In a small shelf of books 
which I noticed at my first casual glance were clev¬ 
erly concealed all the makings of the ^^Compleat 
Barkeeper.” The backs of the books were just 
painted and all swung on hinges—titles known as 
the five-foot shelf of Barleycorn Classics. I could 
not help smiling at the grim humor in spite of the 
tragedy. 

The only thing in the room suggesting a softer 
element in his nature was the dainty table just large 
enough for two to dine at very intimately. On it 
was some beautiful china and this china had been 
used recently. It was unwashed. There was coffee 
in the percolator and a rarebit had been steaming 
in the chafing dish. 

Half afraid already to think, I whispered, ‘T 
wonder . . . who sat in that other chair?” 

Kennedy made no answer. I found myself look¬ 
ing awesomely at the powerful figure of Hawtrey, 
strong even in death. I had no sooner whispered 
the words than I felt an uncanny sense that the 


ATAVAR 


87 


dead ears might have heard, that the dead hand 
might reach out, invisibly, with unseen, yet terribly 
more effective weapons, to resent, to avenge. 

Back of the den was a bedroom and bath, on the 
same floor. It was not a large or deep house. These 
rooms were hke a single suite or apartment. 

Kennedy nosed into the bedroom. I was glad to 
follow, to escape the dead, the eerie fear that he 
might strike from the unseen world with power that 
would crush my poor resistance. 

Apparently the bed was undisturbed. Craig 
tiptoed about, avoiding touching anything. 

Suddenly he stooped over and picked up a small 
golden spur, an ornament. 

There was a noise in the study. I almost jumped. 
I looked over my shoulder. I beheve I would not 
have been astounded to see the dead man in the 
door. 

There was no one. No* one had seen the golden 
spur. Quickly Craig dropped it into his pocket. 

The noise was from Dunphy again. He was hold¬ 
ing something delicately pink in his hand, of fabric. 

^Tn the cellar—shoved down the ash chute 
from the kitchen range.’^ He unfolded a pink-silk 
kimono. 

^'No Are in the range yet—so' the hot ashes didnT 
get a chance to destroy it,^^ I put in, nervously. 

He unfolded it and held it up. There were spots 
of blood, hardly yet dry, on the breast! 

^^Or maybe planted there—for me to And? How 
about it?’^ 

^T told you ... I donT know anything. . . . 
IVe been asked more questions about this thing 


88 


ATAVAR 


. . . the reporters . . . the inspector . . . you. 
. . . You all know more about it now than I doY^ 

I heard Javary arguing with Doctor Leslie in the 
hall. Dunphy quickly rolled up the kimono. 

^‘When you are ready, Kennedy, this is Javary, 
the valet and butler. 1^11 go tell Inger Dean in a 
minute she’s wanted next.” 

Javary was a slight fellow, very British. 

‘When did you see Mr. Hawtrey alive last?” shot 
out Kennedy. 

“He gave me the evening off. . . . About eight 
o’clock, sir, he told me to look and see if the cellar- 
ette was stocked. . . . He expected some one . . . 
after the show, it was, sir. Then I went ... I had 
a ticket myself . . . and I didn’t come home . . .” 

“Where were you?” 

Javary looked about like a cornered animal. “In 
a speak-easy, sir. . . . I’ll tell that . . . when the 
time comes ... all night. ... I came in about 
seven o’clock. . . . There! ... I met the paper 
boy delivering papers ... on the street. ... Is 
that good?” 

“What about this, Javary?” Dunphy held up the 
kimono. 

“S’welp me! I don’t know ... or the Billie 
Burkes. . . . All I know is . . . some one must 
have been in that chiffonier of the master’s!” 

Tommy Atkins stood at his guns. There was no 
use now deviling him. He was shutting up tighter. 
Kennedy dismissed him. 

Javary lingered at the door, as if he would have 
liked to listen to Inger’s quizzing. 

“Come, come, my man,” prodded Dunphy, “get 
along, now!” 


ATAVAR 89 

Javary disappeared as if suddenly deciding he 
had business somewhere else in the house. 

Inger recognized Kennedy immediately. She was 
inclined to be defiant, indignant. But he quickly 
mollified her. 

‘When did you come in, Inger?’’ he asked at 
length, when conversation was smoothed. 

“About midnight . . . after the show. I was 
tired. I went upstairs . . . to my bedroom. It’s 
on the third floor ... in the rear.” 

“What did you see?” 

“I didn’t see anything. It was dark and I went 
upstairs. I was tired, I tell you.” 

“What did you hear?” 

“Nothing . . . nothing . . . until this morning. 
... I heard Javary shouting for help in the hall 
and running about. ... I think it was about seven 
o’clock. I get up at seven. I dressed and ran 
down.” 

“What did you do with the gun, Inger?” 

“I didn’t see any gun! There wasn’t any gun . . , 
except those of Mr. Hawtrey. . . . They’re all there. 
I ought to know. I’ve straightened this room often 
enough.” 

“Then what?” 

“I ran to the door—the front door.” 

Leslie produced a Yale lock key and held it up. 

“Yes ... we found it in the door when we threw 
it open to call help.” 

“Why didn’t Javary see it when he came in and 
say something about it?” 

“I suppose he came in by the basement. You 
don’t suppose Mr. Hawtrey was going to give his 
valet a key to the upstairs front door, do you?” 




90 


ATAVAR 


‘'Well . . . who had keys, then?’^ 

"Oh, several of them ... at different times.” 

"Several—who?” cut in Dunphy. 

"Several ladies he knew—at times.” 

"Well, name one!” 

"You don^t think they were going to tell me, do 
you? And Mr. Hawtrey wasn^t going to take his 
housekeeper into his confidence, do you think?” 
There was defiance in that^—and finality. 

Kennedy interrupted, saving that line for a more 
auspicious future time. "All right. Then tell us 
again what you saw when you came into the den the 
first time. Be careful, for we know more now than 
we did.” 

"I—I canT talk about it!” 

Kennedy smoothed things over again. 

"When I came down ... I saw him sitting at 
that table . . . with his back toward me. ... I 
came in that door, there. I’ve lived here a long time 
and . . . and . . .” She sobbed hysterically. "I 
went up and touched his shoulder. 'Why don’t you 
go to bed?’ I said. I thought he was asleep. . . . 
He hadn’t turned when I entered. He didn’t 
turn when I touched him. ... He didn’t move. . . . 
I touched his hand. My God! What a shock! He 
was icy cold! Then I saw blood ... on the floor 
... on him. ... I screamed . . . put my hands 
up over my eyes . . . ran out of the room . . . 
screamed again. . . . Javary was in the hall; he’d 
been trying the back windows to see were they all 
locked. ... We ran to the front door!” 

"Inger,” Kennedy lowered his voice. "I’m sorry 
for you, I really am. When we lose those ... we 
love ...” 


ATAVAR 


91 


—my God—^it's awful 

What Kennedy might have wormed out under 
stress of her emotion I shall never know. Dunphy 
thought he saw his chance. 

^When did you change this kimono, Inger?^^ He 
held it up so that the blood spots were directly in 
front of her eyes. 

^Who found that? That isn’t mine. I don’t 
know anything about it! What are you trying to 
do to me?” 

Inger sobbed. She admitted nothing except what 
she had told three times now had taken place when 
she saw the murder which Javary had discovered. 
Nor would she admit ownership of the kimono. 

I may as well admit, myself, that I felt queer 
about it all. It is bad enough to be in a room when 
a corpse is laid out carefully in a casket. But every 
time I turned my head I saw that devilish grin on 
Hawtrey’s face. It looked to me as if he had a grim 
joke on us all. Kennedy saw my discomfiture. 

^Ts it getting you, YJ alter?” 

“N-no.” Unconsciously, I whispered. But my 
eyes wandered to that saturnine countenance and I 
suppressed a shiver. 

Dunphy laughed. Dunphy will rock Charon’s 
boat. ^^He looks as if he was waiting to keep a date 
with the devil!” 

Inger had left and we were thinking over what 
facts had been uncovered. They were precious few. 
Each of us in that room of grinning death was 
evolving a theory of his own. There was a con¬ 
strained silence. We had nothing more than to wait 
for the medical examiner, the successor to the old 
coroner. Would he never come? 


92 


ATAVAR 


No one spoke. Leslie was noiselessly at work 
measuring about the body and back of it toward the 
hole in the wall. Leslie was always measuring. He 
had a passion for measurements, for exactness. 

The telephone at Hawtrey’s elbow jangled. I 
jumped. Even the rest started. We all looked at 
one another. 

Dunphy reached for the telephone. Then he 
checked himself. ^^By all the saints, that won’t do! 
Here, Jameson, you take it. Your broad ‘a’ is better 
than my brogue. Answer it. You’re Javary, see?” 

I got up and reluctantly reached for the receiver. 
All the time I half expected Hawtrey would knock 
the receiver out of my hands. I drew away from 
his arm which was uncanny inches near me. 

Then I managed to talk. ^‘Are you there? . . . 
Are you there? . . . Hello! . . . Hello! ...” I 
covered, nervously trying to make my voice as much 
like Javary’s as possible. 

^^Hello, Javary!” I heard; then lower, “Is Hawtrey 
there?” 

I almost dropped the receiver in my excitement. 
The voice I heard was the same I had heard over 
the dictograph the day before. Norman Carfax was 
speaking. 

“No, no. Mr. Hawtrey is . . . sleeping, Mr. 
Carfax.” 

I saw Kennedy straighten. 

“There’s no danger of his listening in? He can’t 
hear?” 

“No, no. He is fast asleep.” 

“Well . . . was my wife there last night? Did 
she stay there? She’s not at the Gamorrah.” 


A T A V A R 93 

no, Mr. Carfax. I don’t think so. I say . . . 
when do I get that . . . you know?” 

'‘In a few hours, now, Javary. Sure you didn’t see 
anything of Mrs. Carfax?” 

"No, sir. I’m saying, no.” 

"Well, you’ll hear from me soon. Good-by. If 
you see Mrs. Carfax, let me know. Good-by!” 

I hung up slowly. If I was Javary, really, how 
would I have taken Carfax’s indefinite postpone¬ 
ment of paying the money he was so anxious to pay 
the night before? I could not tell the others. But 
what did it mean? Did Carfax really know? Was 
Javary out ten thousand? Or . . . 

Dunphy broke in. "Eh! See? That was for me 
—planted. The damned rum runners! They know 
I know. That was a cover! Them Carfaxes—say! 
Hawtrey meant their bank roll—and you’ll swallow 
a lot of dirt before you’ll lose a bank roll—a big 
bootleg bank roll!” 

As Kennedy, Leslie, and Dunphy discussed it, I 
wondered. Had there been more than one other 
person there? Dorothy Carfax might have been 
there. Had Natalie been there? I determined to 
say nothing of that suspicion. Who else? Gaunt? 
Carfax himself? Fay? I counted them over. Could 
it have meant a fight between two women? Or be¬ 
tween a woman and a man, other than Hawtrey? 

"Who killed Hawtrey?” I repeated, as Dunphy 
cornered me as to what I would report to the Star, 
"My own theory is that it was a woman—or over 
a woman.” 

Dunphy laughed. "I don’t know why the women 
don’t write the papers. They’re all edited for them. 
Suppose so. What about some blackmailer? We 


94 


ATAVAR 


know his secret business!’^ I could not argue it. 
Privately I felt it was some one frustrated and 
vengeful. 

^^IVe made a calculation/’ put in Doctor Leslie, 
^^his position in the chair—the course of the bullet^— 
the place in the wall—the direction. He could have 
shot himself!” 

Kennedy had been keeping aloof as theory after 
theory had come forward. ^^This makes me think 
of my own theory of the perfect mystery. The 
clever murderer leaves clews by his very cleverness. 
The only perfect mystery is that of a man walking 
down a dark deserted alley in the blackness of night. 
An unknown comes up behind—strikes with a piece 
of lead pipe—and beats it. That is a mystery. 
But here—they have left clews—^if we are only 
smart enough to read them right!” 

In the welter of mystery and tangled and broken 
romance Kennedy dominated. 

It was only twenty minutes after the arrival of 
the medical examiner that Kennedy with the agree¬ 
ment of the examiner, the inspector, and Leslie, 
took the glasses and carefully bundled them up 
with the gin and orange juice. I wondered what it 
meant. 

All the forenoon Kennedy was immersed in his 
tests in his laboratory. 

First he washed in sterilized water the empty glass 
found on the table in Hawtrey’s room. Then he 
examined the half-filled glass and its contents and 
the bottle. I saw he had spilled a few drops, and 
as it dried I noted the stains on the varnish on the 
laboratory table. 

‘^What’s that?” I pointed quickly. 


ATAVAR 95 

‘^Well . . . there’s alcohol in varnish remover, 
eh?” he shrugged, going on with his work. 

Some time later, after I had been busy between 
putting Boyle wise to hold down the Carfax dicto¬ 
graph, and telephoning a detailed story down to 
the Star, Kennedy turned and held up the empty 
glass. 

^That was a coroner’s cocktail—^in that glass!” 

“A—a coroner’s cocktail?” 

“Methyl alcohol . . , deadly!” 

“But what about the other party?” 

“Perhaps didn’t drink. Or possibly did. Did 
you know that your friend methyl is one of those 
‘selective’ poisons—picking and choosing its vic¬ 
tims and even singling out for attack only special 
organs and tissues?” 

I knew something of it, as does everyone in these 
piping days of prohibition, but I ventured nothing, 
for I saw that at last Craig had got so far that, he 
would tallc of his discoveries whatever they were. 

“It’s so deadly and swift in its action that usually 
before an evening’s festivities are over—often soon 
after the first glass is drained, its horrible effects 
are known.” 

“Yes . . . but wouldn’t . , , some one . . . have 
known how to stop them?” 

“There was no way to stop this ! Besides, alcohol 
permeates so quickly. Drop a spoonful in this pail 
of water. It will permeate the whole pailful almost 
before you can empty it. Now, as to the organs. 
One of the first is the nerve coat, the retina of the 
eye. It paralyzes and destroys the retina. Other 
drugs also pick out the optic nerve for particularly 
vicious attack.” 


96 


ATAVAR 


He paused, considering. “Well, then,^^ he went 
on, “of ten drinkers, one will never wake again, two 
will never see again, two will be half blind—and the 
other five will be pretty sick. But with this mix¬ 
ture, here, of wood alcohol, methyl, and boot¬ 
legger’s renatured-denatured alcohol, as I call it— 
not a chance—^not a chance—first gradual blindness 
—finally death!” 

“Wood alcohol,” I repeated looking at the bottle 
with something akin to the awe I had looked upon 
Hawtrey’s stark body. 

“Yes—methyl—the lowest and cheapest member 
of the family of five headed by ethyl. The third 
is amyl—you’ve heard of fusel oil? That puts the 
forty-rod quality in moonshine. In fact, the ripen¬ 
ing or aging of whisky for several years after it is 
distilled is chiefly for the sake of getting rid of the 
fusel oil, which contains ether as well as alcohol. 
Then there are propyl and butyl. They are the 
^yl’ family, all right—dangerously ill!” 

He marked on the laboratory table with a pencil. 
“Take CaHeO; then take away a molecule of marsh 
gas—CH 2 . You have CH4O. That is wood alcohol 
—our friend here. Only this is a combination of 
wood alcohol and renatured-denatured alcohol— 
from which as far as I have been able to see now, 
the acetone, benzine, formalin, or pyridin haven’t 
been removed completely.” 

“Then . . . it’s not even . . . synthetic . . . grain 
alcohol gin?” 

“No. I suppose you know that the only member 
of this VI’ family met ordinarily in polite society is 
ethyl—grain alcohol? Wood alcohol is one of those 
products along with tar and charcoal from the dry 


ATAVAR 


97 


cooking or distillation of wood or sawdust. It has 
the same value as grain alcohol for fuel and many 
manufacturing processes. But it has a vile smell 
and viler taste—like a cross between fish oil and 
varnish, disgusting, nauseating. Well, then, chem¬ 
ists found a way to separate methyl from its stink. 
They made a pure water-white wood alcohol com¬ 
pletely free from odor. It takes a laboratory like 
this to recognize it from its eldest sister, ethyl. 
There’s no certain test for the layman; only in a 
laboratory by a series of chemical reagents.” 

“And deodorized methyl is just as poisonous as 
before?” 

“Worse . . . for it has no warning! The whole 
ghastly business could be stopped completely in a 
few months, as England has already done for years, 
by simply passing a law declaring the deodorizing 
of wood alcohol or the possession of it deodorized 
punishable by both fine and imprisonment. But, 
I suppose, such a simple sensible measure has no 
appeal to the det-’em-die’ prohibitionists who love 
their fellow men so greatly that they’d rather have 
them die than drink!” 

“Then . . . the methyl alcohol would have killed 
Hawtrey . . . soon . . . anyhow!” 

“Yes . . . but it was the shot that actually did kill 
him!” 

I recalled the indelible picture of Hawtrey’s grim, 
mocking smile. 

What had been back of it? Had it meant that 
the gun meant nothing to him? What difference 
would an hour or two of life make to Hawtrey? 

Or had he cheated the avenger himself? Had 
some one with diabolical motive succeeded in pois- 


98 


ATAVAR 


oningl h,im—'the rum runner —m 9. weird poetic 
justice—in this way? Had he realized it—and 
ended it all, himself? 

Flashed through my mind fragments of reminis¬ 
cence of the hectic night of ^^Astarte’^ As on a 
screen I saw Gaunt—the clash of two strong men— 
Gaunt and Hawtrey. 

I saw at the Gilded Lily, Natalie, the center of 
all eyes. I had seen Natalie with Gaunt; I had 
seen a fascination—tinged by fear. Then there was 
Natalie and Hawtrey; an overmastering physical at¬ 
traction—^with a trace of terror. 

Finally, I recalled the vanishing dance—Natalie 
and Hawtrey again. When the lights flashed up 
they were not on the floor. They had made a hasty 
exit—^lost in the dense, long-past-midnight traffic. I 
remembered that when I had turned Roger was no¬ 
where to be found. Gaunt had disappeared. Fay 
was gone. I had not seen Carfax or Dorothy Car- 
fax at all. And I remembered the ominous fore¬ 
boding I had had, that it was the fatal night for 
Natalie. 

Crowding into my mind came other incidents of 
the day before, incidents that involved the secret 
of the source of Hawtrey^s wealth, Hawtrey, wealthy 
rum runner to the wealthy—Carfax and his bitter¬ 
ness toward Hawtrey and Dorothy; Dorothy and 
her bitterness toward Hawtrey and Natalie. 

I thought of Carfax and Javary the evening before 
in the hotel room—and the bribe. Had Hawtrey 
an inkling of Javary's treachery? As for Javary, 
now, why should he talk at all? How hang anything 
on Javary if he kept his thin lips shut? All he 


ATAVAR 99 

needed was an alibi—at any expense, even of a 
speak-easy. 

Came naturally a suspicion of Inger—Inger and 
Hawtrey^s flowers and the note—Inger of myste¬ 
rious, uncertain history. 

Through each sequence of thought loomed, un¬ 
welcome, my last pictured impression of Roger 
Gerard, pale and shaken. I could not throw off the 
bitter hostility shown by Hawtrey and Roger in 
the greenroom at the American. It obtruded, of 
added importance after the photograph and note 
Roger had sent Natahe in the dressing room after 
the last dress rehearsal. Even before this I had 
been impressed by the progressive change in Gerard 
from the moment of the interview in his library in 
the forenoon to the visit in the evening in the lab¬ 
oratory, at the theater, and at the Gilded Lily. 

Which of them? I had kept repeating to myself 
from the instant that that mocking frozen smile of 
Hawtrey had stamped itself indelibly on my mind. 

Now with Kennedy’s discovery, I wondered. Had 
there been a crossing of plots? Had one with dia¬ 
bolical ingenuity poisoned Hawtrey? Then had 
some one else shot? 

Kennedy’s last observation r^ng in my ears. The 
methyl would have killed Hawtrey . . . but it was 
the shot that actually did kill. 

^^A murder monger!” I exclaimed, with my news¬ 
paper passion for phrases. ^That poisoning was 
cold, calm, calculated!” 

‘‘Yes,” returned Kennedy. “But the shot was 
fired in the heat of passion—or fear!” 

I had been thinking of Gerard. “Craig,” I blurted 
out hoarsely, “Roger’s appeal to us at first ... his 


100 


ATAVAR 


note to Natalie at the rehearsal . . . the bitter en¬ 
counter with Hawtrey backstage after ‘Astarte^ . . . 
then . .. the Gilded Lily . . 

^That was Natalie^s gold spur I picked up in the 
bedroom, Walter,” interposed Craig, quietly. “Haw- 
trey had the mate to it in his tie yesterday after¬ 
noon. . . . It’s a mess. . . . When a girl plays with 
sharp-edged tools . . . some one must expect to be 
cut!” 

It was like a blow. Back of it all now in my 
mind loomed a horrible, haunting fear—suspicion of 
Natalie herself. 


Part n 




CHAPTER VI 


FACTS 

Even in the midst of mystery no uplifter could 
have been keener on the scent of reform than was 
Kennedy on the trail of a certain obscure uplifter 
of man’s physical well-being. He was on a diet— 
which meant that I was also—when I ate with him. 

In the excitement we had neglected Kennedy’s 
rules for breakfast for the brain worker. 

‘^Doesn’t make any difference to me, Craig,” I 
reassured. 

'‘No, I suppose a newspaperman can’t use that 
organ nowadays, anyhow,” he retorted. 

However, he made up for the loss of breakfast by 
a thoroughly scientific lunch in which he achieved 
a proper compensation of calories, but more 
especially made use of his new hobby, his biochem¬ 
ical discoveries in the value of vitamines. A, B, C, 
and the most recent addition, D, the mysterious 
bone-builder. Craig had not forgotten to have th^ 
scientific luncheon sent in to the laboratory, and 
over it we discussed the Hawtrey case. 

'Tn this case, as in any case,” he remarked, "there 
are three steps. First there is the reconstruction. 
We are doing that now, finding out what happened, 
the facts. Then there is the motivation, which we’ll 
take up next, the clews from that angle. Finally 
103 


104 


ATAVAR 


well get to the elimination of our suspects, following 
out those facts and clews/^ 

He paused as if about to remonstrate with me 
for some unscientific eating on my part, then his 
interest in the case refused to allow his mind to be 
diverted. 

‘To start with, we come upon a man shot through 
the chest, above the heart. He is sprawled in a big 
chair, clad in silk pajamas and a dressing gown—” 

“So close to the wall that any shot must have 
been fired from in front of him.^’ 

It was Doctor Leslie who had come in silently. 

Leslie glanced about eagerly at the laboratory 
table full of paraphernalia. “What did you find? 
Anything?’^ 

“We found that Hawtrey had already been pois¬ 
oned—^poisoned by an insidious combination of 
methyl and renatured alcohol— 

Leslie, who had seated himself on the edge of the 
table, leaped to his feet. “Did he know it? He 
must have known it!’’ He took a few steps. “My 
suicide theory!” 

From his waistcoat pocket the doctor drew some¬ 
thing. “Now here's the slug. I didn’t like to hand 
it over while Dunphy and his men were about.” 

He deposited a jacketed slug before Kennedy’s 
plate. Kennedy picked up the distorted thing and 
carefully examined it. 

“You recall I told you about it,” went on Leslie. 
“I dug it out of the plaster. It passed through his 
chest and imbedded itself in the wall—stopped by 
the brick party wall between that house and the 
next.” 


ATAVAR 105 

At once flashed through my mind the recollection 
of the valuable gun cabinet in Hawtrey^s den. 

^^A rifle?” I queried. 

Kennedy shook his head. ^‘Not from a rifle—^be¬ 
cause in a rifle the powder grains are mostly con¬ 
sumed in the long barrel and—well—” 

‘Then it was a pistol!” exclaimed Leslie. 

“If so, what kind?” I hastened. 

“An automatic,” returned Kennedy, promptly. 

“How can you tell that?” I asked. 

“Three ways. First the shell was ejected; sec¬ 
ond, here we have a jacketed bullet; and third, this 
was smokeless powder—the powder grains show it; 
the smudges are different from those of black or 
brown powder. They are less in smokeless—that is, 
at the probable distance from which this shot was 
fired. Smokeless won't burn so much. . . .” 

“The first thing I want to call attention to,” put 
in Leslie “is that it might have been a suicide.” 

“Oh no!” I exclaimed. “I'm against the suicide 
theory.” 

“Why?” 

“It's inartistic in the first place ... from the news¬ 
paper viewpoint . . . not a good story!” 

Kennedy smiled. “Well, here's the shell.” 

To the surprise of both Leslie and myself, Craig 
carefully laid an exploded shell beside the slug of 
Leslie. 

“Now we have all the cards on the table. That's 
the main reason why I know it was an automatic.” 

“Where did that come from?” questioned Leslie. 

“I picked it up on the rug, toward the bedroom.” 

“To his right?” 

“Yes.” 


106 ATAVAR 

‘^An automatic ejects to the right,” I added. 

‘Tes,” agreed Kennedy, ''but not to his right. If 
some one else held it—to his left.” 

"There!” ejaculated Leslie. "What about my 
suicide theory? If he held it—” 

"Toward himself?” I came back quickly. 

"Of course.” 

"Well, then it would eject to his left—just the 
same!” 

"Perhaps” maintained Leslie. "But he could have 
held the automatic in such a way turned, that it 
would have ejected to the left^—^his own rights—this 
way see? Try it.” 

"No thanks.” 

"Youll have to use your thumb to press the trig¬ 
ger—away from you—^so,” illustrated Leshe in pan¬ 
tomime. "Remember, all that is necessary is that 
the ejection be one side or the other of a perpen¬ 
dicular, median line. . .. And it would scarcely have 
fallen to his right if someone else had held it. He 
might hold the gat, turned; but not likely for an¬ 
other to do so.” 

Kennedy merely smiled at my tilt with Leslie. 

"Changing the subject,” he interposed, quietly, 
"let’s consider the measurements, the position of 
the chairs, the table, the body—and the height of 
the bullet in the wall—the direction of the bullet 
through the chest—and through the wall.” 

Neither Leslie nor I had the temerity to challenge 
Craig if he chose to be arbiter. 

"Aside from the suicide theory” he went on, "had 
there been a scuffle—or a duel—or was it a cold¬ 
blooded surprise shooting? Tell me again, Leslie, 


ATAVAR 107 

how you found this slug; see if it checks up with 
my observations/^ 

Leslie cleared his throat. ^The bullet penetrated 
the wall at a point thirty-eight inches above the 
floor and traveled a quite horizontal course—if any¬ 
thing, a trifle downward. I found it flattened against 
the brick party wall of the house.^^ 

Kennedy nodded. “Hawtrey was shot from the 
front. The bullet entered his chest just above the 
heart—traveled upward—as it might have if he 
had been leaning back at the time and the course of 
the bullet had been quite horizontal to the floor— 
or as it might if he had been leaning slightly for¬ 
ward and the bullet's course had been slightly up 
from the horizontal. It emerged from his back two 
or three inches higher. 

‘^Hawtrey was five feet, eleven inches—seventy- 
one inches. Had he been standing erect, the bullet 
must have traveled more than fifty inches above the 
floor. Under such conditions it could not have hit 
the waU thirty-eight inches above the floor." 

see," I jumped to the conclusion. ^‘He must 
have been sitting—leaning forward, perhaps—and 
the shot must have been fired by some one sitting in 
the low chair, before the desk." Kennedy nodded 
noncommitally and I turned toward Leslie, persist¬ 
ing: ^‘His clothes were scarcely scorched. The pow¬ 
der marks were slight. It would have been difficult 
for him to hold the gun-" 

Leslie was framing a reply when the door was 
flung open and Dunphy interrupted us. Dunphy 
was almost pugnacious in his manner. 

^‘Got it all doped out!" his voice boomed. 

I wondered, then, why he came to us. I was not 


108 


ATAVAR 


yet quite conversant with the psychology of Dunphy. 
The reality was that he had a wholesome respect for 
Kennedy. That accounted for his pugnacious man¬ 
ner. It was a cover. Actually he was seeking infor¬ 
mation. 

^When they left the Gilded Lily they left in a 
taxicab—to the Pirates’ Cave.” 

I knew the notorious little private dance club 
down Greenwich Village way. 

^Xater,” he pursued, ^^they left the Pirates’ Cave 
in another taxi. This time they were followed by 
another car!” 

^Who was in the other car?” queried Craig. 

^''That’s the devil of it^—no one saw. I can’t find 
the driver—either driver—not yet—^but we will! 
Well, now, what have you found out?” asked 
Dunphy, with a glance of shaded contempt around 
the laboratory. 

^The shot was from an automatic,” ventured 
Kennedy. 

^Dh, I knew that.” 

Just how he knew it Dunphy neglected to tell. 

^^And I should say,” commented Leslie, ^^the first 
thing of all is. Where is the gun?” 

Dunphy nodded sagely. ^'That’s what I’m on the 
trail of.” 

I had long been burning with a desire to put in 
my own suggestion. This was my chance. ^What 
about the key? Who had keys?” 

Dunphy smiled knowingly. ^^All the ladies—your 
friend. Fay Blythe, for instance—why not ask her?” 

^^Did Miss Lisle?” I asked, pointedly. 

Dunphy avoided answering. 

^^Mrs. Carfax?” 


ATAVAR 


109 


'^She was an old flame! You remember the Carfax 
telephone call? Was my wife there last night? She 
wasn't at the Gamorrah.' " 

^^Yes—but was that a blind?" 

“Nothing to say, yet—about either old or new, 
Jameson. You saw the blood-stained kimono—and 
the Billie Burkes, folded up differently. Draw your 
own conclusions, exercise your imagination." 

I had been wondering, myself, whether Hawtrey 
had found out about the pact of Carfax and Javary, 
but I said nothing about it except, apropos of keys 
and kimonos, “What of Javary?" 

“Javary?" 

“Yes. Where did Javary spend the night?" 

“In a speak-easy, he says." 

“There are ten thousand—" 

Dunphy nodded patronizingly. “Yes—but we 
know this one, my boy. I don't mind telling you 
—the Pirates' Cave!" 

“The same place—on Eighth Avenue?" 

Dunphy nodded. “It's the hangout of Carfax. 
They all knew it!" 

I saw that Kennedy was getting interested in 
Dunphy's Carfax and Javary clew, whatever it might 
amount to. 

“Well, Dunphy," he put in, looking up “you 
haven't asked me what else I've found, but I want 
to play fair. Before Hawtrey was shot, he had been 
poisoned in some way—probably by bum hootch, an 
insidious combination of wood alcohol and doctored 
denatured alcohol." 

“Huh?" There was genuine surprise now be¬ 
trayed by Dunphy's tone. 

Kennedy amplified his statement. 


no 


ATAVAR 


^'Whew!” exclaimed the detective. '1 thought so! 
That just fits in with my rum-runner clew. So long 
boys! I^m off on that now again. See you later!’' 

As he went off on his own clew, Dunphy gave the 
impression of knowing a great deal more than he 
chose to tell. 

Dunphy's visit and information had made Ken¬ 
nedy restless, evidently eager to get away from the 
laboratory, more especially his reference to the ki¬ 
mono and the Billie Burkes and the airy kicker in 
the remark, ^^Exercise your imagination!" It was 
evident that Dunphy had been doing it; and 
Dunphy's imagination was about that of a gorilla. 

“It comes to this," remarked Craig, briskly. “So 
far, our reconstruction has left us with three ques¬ 
tions. Some one planted a poison before Hawtrey 
returned. The question is. Who? Some one came 
in with a key. Again, Who? Some one shot. Who^— 
and what became of the gun?" 

Kennedy had his hat on, and the hint was suffi¬ 
ciently broad for Leshe. As I watched Craig nar¬ 
rowly, I knew there was another question in his 
mind. Had it been Roger Gerard in that cab that 
followed Natalie and Hawtrey from the Pirates’ 
Cave? 

Just outside the university grounds w© parted 
with Leslie, and Kennedy hopped a bus. At Wash¬ 
ington Square, Craig hurried down the steep spiral 
steps, and a few minutes later we were with Gerard 
in the great Gerard hbrary. 

As I sat there I could not get from my mind the 
vision of that portrait back of the dark-velvet hang¬ 
ing—that portrait with the haunting fear—wonder 
—terror—in the eyes. Burning in my mind, too, was 


ATAVAR 111 

the question. Had Gerard been in the car that fol¬ 
lowed Natalie and Hawtrey? 

“What became of you, Roger—at the Gilded 
Lily?” half chaffed Craig as we settled ourselves. 
“I saw you by the door—just before the shadow 
dance—then when the lights came up you were 
gone. Houdini had nothing on you!” 

“Oh,” drawled Roger, “I thought it was no place 
for me—that I^d better get away—^here—anywhere. 
What you don't see—doesn’t worry you—^so much!” 

“And you came down here?” 

“Yes. My man let me in about half past twelve 
or quarter to one. I sat up in this room—alone- 
all night.” 

Kennedy did not betray any doubt as he bored 
keenly into Roger’s eyes. They were big, with dark 
circles under them, and his face showed sleepless¬ 
ness. Nevertheless, Roger seemed to know that he 
was under fire from his friend. 

He picked up a leather book from the table. “Yes 
—I tried to read—read a little of Walt Whitman— 
you know”-—he flicked over the pages—“came on 
this line—^The sweetest flesh is the flesh upon mine 
own bones!’ ” 

Noncommital though Roger was, I felt that he 
had meant that quotation in some way as an answer 
to us. However, on reflection, I thought it suscep¬ 
tible of at least two interpretations. Roger could 
hardly be expected to incriminate himself—even to 
us. 

“Well, Roger,” began Kennedy again, “Natalie 
was known to have gone with Hawtrey in a taxi— 
to a well-kiiown resort downtown—^known to have 
left it, also, with him.” 


112 


ATAVAR 


I fancied Gerard winced. Yet he kept silent, ex¬ 
cept for a half-muttered word, “Well?'' 

“My God, man!" suddenly exclaimed Kennedy 
with one of his sudden dramatics with which he 
often put over what lurked in the back of his mind: 
“Don't you see? You must take us to her. She 
must tell where she was—must dispel this cloud that 
is hanging over her. Suppose Dunphy and the city 
detectives grill her! . . . She is your . . . man, she 
is at least your client!" 

Roger felt the stress. “All right, then"— husk¬ 
ily—“I will!" 

I wondered how Natalie would meet us, knowing, 
as I was sure now she did, Kennedy's purpose in 
the case. At our first meeting she had quickly 
placed him. 

“I don't suppose," measured Roger, as we paced 
along to the West Side Subway, “I need to suggest 
carefulness in questioning Natalie. She is wild 
enough to resent the least suspicion and stubborn 
enough to refuse to answer what she might think 
personal questions—even for her own good. My 
God! what a girl! I have had to do almost everything 
for Natalie to keep her safe^—^without her knowing 
it. ... I want to see her, myself, too." 

Roger was silent most of the walk both to and 
from the subway. Except for this first admonition, 
the only interest he showed was in his unusual con¬ 
sumption of cigarettes. He used them rather spar¬ 
ingly at other times. Even now he did not finish 
them. A few puffs and the cigarette was out in the 
roadway; a few seconds later he was busy lighting 
another. On the train he was nervous. His foot 
was constantly tapping the reinforced cement floor 


ATAVAR 


113 


and when a man’s foot wigwags that way it usually 
means that his other extremity is to blame and he 
is worried. 

When we reached Natalie’s apartment, a studio 
apartment just off Central Park, West we gave our 
names to the girl at the switchboard. 

As Roger and Craig sauntered to the lift, I be¬ 
thought myself of former days as a newspaper de¬ 
tective, smiled at the girl, made a remark or two 
more or less personal, then asked, ^^Are you off, 
nights?” 

She met me embarrassingly more than halfway. 
‘Tes, at six o’clock.” 

‘^Is that when the other girl comes on?” 

‘^Say, you’re too interested in girls! Ain’t one 
enough at a time, even? No, smarty, there ain’t 
no other girl comes on at six. The elevator boys 
answer after that—and the night watchman. See?” 

She took time out from the conversation to attend 
to business and nodded toward Roger and Craig 
and the elevator. I spoofed a reply and joined them, 
one point to the good. If need be we might check 
up by the night watchman. 

Natalie met us at the door, herself. I had thought 
her beautiful the night before. Now, in her softly 
flowing house gown, she was like some misty dream. 
I could only mentally gasp. Beauty always thrilled 
me. Yet it did not escape me that there was an 
appe^ingly wistful, anxious look on her face as she 
gave Roger her hand tremulously. With us she was 
more reserved. 

Inside, Natalie took Roger’s arm and led him to 
a divan, indicating easy chairs for us. 


114 


ATAVAR 


“Well, Roger,’’ she trilled, “a call of congratula¬ 
tion?” She laughed a bit nervously. 

Roger smiled, but it did not really break his seri¬ 
ous mien. “Natalie,” he said, slowly, placing his 
hand on hers as it lay on the divan cover, “this 
call is—a bit hard to explain. ... I want to help 
you—and so does Mr. Kennedy.” 

“Help me? how?” Natalie stiffened slightly and 
gave a quick shrug of her shoulders. “Charity begins 
at home, Roger!” And again I saw a worried look 
come into her eyes. 

“Natalie, wherever you are seems like home! You 
are my childhood friend; our fathers were friends; 
you are very dear to me—and I want to keep you 
from danger.” 

“Danger? Dear old blundering Roger! Mr. Ken¬ 
nedy, can you tell me what danger I am in?” She 
turned toward Craig and gave him a penetrating 
glance that revealed more to Craig than she knew. 
Then with another laugh she tried to introduce 
last night’s spectacle into the conversation. 

The telephone tinkled in the rear of the apartment 
and a trim little maid called Natalie. She hurried 
out of the room, and I turned to look about me. 
Everywhere I saw evidences of good taste and the 
means to gratify it. 

It was a typical studio apartment, with a lofty- 
ceilinged room that gave dignity and character to 
it, and the remainder of the apartment duplex, on 
two floors, which combined made the height of the 
huge studio. 

Roger turned to me and whispered, “She prac¬ 
tises here—look at her mirrors.” 

All the walls were lined with them. They made 


ATAVAR 


115 


the room seem much larger, too. The prevailing 
tone of the color scheme was blue, darker blue at 
the baseboards until near the ceiling it was only 
a bluish tint that seemed to fade entirely into white 
and rolling cloud effects. 

I could but think what an elf she must be prac¬ 
tising her steps and poses alone in the silent hours 
of the night with the lights of the night streaming 
in through the great windows. 

A few easy-chairs were scattered about, but there 
was no cluttering up of furniture and gewgaws. 
The room was Natalie herself—free, lofty in char¬ 
acter, and easy to look at. 

Suddenly we heard a musical gong. I looked up. 
So did Kennedy and Roger. Just as we did so there 
was a great fluttering of rose petals above us and 
we were showered with them. A gay laugh rang 
out over our heads and I could see Natahe hanging 
over a small balcony just above us which led from 
her boudoir. 

She ran down the steps and joined us. gave 
you some of my last night’s flowers. How did you 
like them?” She came over and sat down again 
by Roger, as if she felt he was the most trustworthy 
friend she possessed. 

^Tt was Mr. Wagner on the wire,” she told him. 
^^He seemed very solicitous about me, too. He tele¬ 
phoned to know how I was, and all that. He was 
very nice. He said for me to be sure to be at the 
rehearsal this afternoon; they’re correcting all the 
little weak spots of last night. . . . Oh, he said the 
prospects are bright—not in spite of—^because of 
the Hawtrey affair. The newspapers, the gossip, 
you know. Far from killing ^Astarte,’ the Hawtrey 


116 


ATAVAR 


affair makes it! Isn't it awful that things should be 
so? But what can I do—aright on the threshold of 
having it succeed!' 

mused Roger. ‘Tes. A success—^if you 

stay!" 

^^But, Roger, at least I can make my own way, 
now. I'm independent! Have you seen the re¬ 
views of the show, what they say about me?" 

She said it in a high-spirited way. Was she cov¬ 
ering up her real feelings in the tragedy that had 
followed in the wake of ^^Astarte"? 

^Wou weren't on the floor when the lights flashed 
up at the Gilded Lily last night," suggested Ken¬ 
nedy. ‘^I should have liked to have told you how 
much I enjoyed your performance myself." 

^^No," she murmured, and I felt that underneath 
she was saying to herself that she had expected it; 
now it had come. '^No, we made a rather hasty 
exit—away from that banal crowd." 

“Where did you go?" he inquired, quite casually. 

“Oh, we started for the Pirates' Cave, a quiet 
place." 

“Who was with you?" 

“Mr. Hawtrey." 

“And did you go?" 

“Yes—of course." 

“And then?" 

She answered as if she had expected and was 
prepared. “When we left ... we quarrelled . . . 
in the taxicab. ... I got out . . . near a stand 
. . . ran . . . got another one . . . alone . . . home." 

“Did you see another cab following you?" 

“No," quickly, “I was too angry at Mr. Hawtrey." 

“What was the quarrel about?" 


ATAVAR 


117 

She paused a moment. ^'Mr. Hawtrey had been 
drinking rather heavily.^^ 

^^Was that all?^^ 

She dropped her eyes. don't think he was— 
quite—^himself." 

^^And then?" 

“I left him." 

<^And—?" 

^^Came here—alone." 

'^About what time was that?" 

She did not hesitate, but raised her eyes squarely 
to meet Kennedy’s. ''Oh, about three o’clock— 
maybe even later. Why?" 

Kennedy did not answer. As for me, still I could 
not eradicate that feeling I had had that it was the 
fatal night for Natalie. She glanced about and 
caught the intentness of our faces. 

"This murder of Mr. Hawtrey seems to have 
affected all my friends!" she exclaimed, naively. 

"Yes, Miss Lisle, your friends are concerned over 
your welfare. There has been so much activity al¬ 
ready among the city detectives that Roger begged 
me to come get your permission to help you keep 
out of it." Craig’s voice was mellow and gentle. 

"Keep out of it? I haven’t been in it!" 

"No, Miss Lisle, but as far as some people know, 
you were the last to be seen with Hawtrey. In 
some murder cases that would mean a little un¬ 
pleasant notoriety for a while." 

"Yes ... I think you are right." I fancied a 
slight shiver passed over her and her brow puckered 
in a frown. 

"Oh, Natalie, I want to get you safely out of it!’’ 
Roger interrupted imploring. 


ATAVAR 


118 

would be convenient/’ pursued Kennedy, 

I could find some one who had been with Hawtrey 
after you left him—at least, that is what Roger 
wants me to do.” 

She raised her brows. ^^You do, Roger?” she in¬ 
quired. Did I see again that sudden flash of fear 
in her eyes, like the heat lightning in summer skies? 
I wondered what she knew and whether she was 
holding back something. 

Roger nodded quickly and positively, a bit forced. 

‘Well, then,” she agreed, “try to find the person 
. . . . But be sure you have the murderer!” 

“Miss Lisle, may I ask another question, to help 
me, first?” inquired Craig. 

“You may ask, but I’ll not promise that I can 
answer until I hear,” she replied, quietly. “Besides, 
Mr. Kennedy, you seem to know so much about the 
activity of the pohce . . . you might possibly be 
able to teU me who it is they suspect?” She raised 
her tone in thoughtful interrogation. 

“I can’t tell you that. Miss Lisle. No one person 
has been singled out as an object of direct suspicion 
—^yet—I believe.” 

“Have they mentioned my name yet?” 

“No.” 

There was a relieved look on Natalie’s face. 

“You’re a live nev/spaperman, Mr. Jameson,” she 
said, wheehng unexpectedly on me. “Maybe you 
can tell me what evidence they have found?” 

Before I caught Craig’s warning glance I had told 
her of the slug, the shell, and that they knew it was 
an automatic. 

Then I realized that gradually, deftly, Natalie 


ATAVAR 119 

had turned the tables on Kennedy and was asking 
him leading questions! 

With his glance, Kennedy took charge of the con¬ 
versation and it became guarded on both sides. On 
her part Natalie had told a great deal—^yet had de¬ 
nied by implication everything important. 

I felt a keen suspicion of Natalie, still. Behind 
her staccato answers she showed unmistakable 
terror. 

But was it for herself? Did she know who was in 
that cab that followed Hawtrey and herself? 

She excused herself naturally, to go to the 
rehearsal. 

Outside Kennedy frowned as we left Roger, and 
muttered to himself: 

‘'If I could understand that girl—I could under¬ 
stand this crime!’' 


CHAPTER VII 


MOTIVES 

‘^Who had the keys to the Hawtrey house?’’ re¬ 
marked Kennedy. “The matter of the key left in 
the lock is of first importance. Keys are like mo¬ 
tives. They unlock mysteries.” 

“Dorothy Carfax? Fay Blythe?” I speculated. 
“Natalie?” 

I recalled suddenly that after the spectacle of 
“Astarte” the night before, Dorothy, speaking of 
her divorce suit, had said, “Call me to-morrow, 
Walter, and get the whole story—letters and photo¬ 
graphs.” Then she had cut short as she saw her 
husband with the faithless Fay—“the hussy!” 

“There’s one bond, however, between Norman 
Carfax and Dorothy,” observed Craig when I men¬ 
tioned it, “a bond of hate^—Carfax’s hatred of Haw- 
trey—her jealousy of Natalie. I believe it would 
be a good time for you to get an interview, try her 
case in the papers for her.” 

I called the Gamorrah. The voluble maid of Mrs. 
Carfax told me that she was at the Elinor Babbit 
Shaw tea room. Craig nodded. “We might have 
guessed it. If we go up there immediately, we 
might talk to her before many of the exuberant pa¬ 
trons arrive—or she gets too well acquainted with 
her most persuasive patron himself.” 

120 


ATAVAR 


121 


^Who’s that?^^ I asked. 

“John Barleycorn’’ smiled Craig. “Come on.” 

Afe the tea room after my visit of the day before, 
there was no trouble about getting in. I asked the 
first attendant we met to take my card to Mrs. Car- 
fax. He left us for a few minutes, then returned 
and asked us to follow him. 

We were ushered into a room in the rear that was 
fitted up as a combination sitting room and dress¬ 
ing room for the hostess and proprietress. Easy- 
chairs, a chaise longue, a princess dresser, and all 
the paraphernalia scattered about its top and in the 
half-opened drawers^—everything seemed designed 
to enhance the artificial beauty of the new pro^ 
prietress. Lip sticks, rouge boxes, powders, creams, 
brushes, blue muds, brown muds, toilet waters 
crowded one another for room on the surface of the 
dresser. Mentally I computed the immense sum of 
money consumed yearly if there were many dressers 
staggering under the same weight of beauty culture 
throughout the country. 

As we entered the room I saw Dorothy Carfax 
seated at a little spinet desk. She seemed to be busy 
thinking about something she was writing. Her 
face had been hfted toward the ceiling, her chin 
supported in the palm of her hand, and the tiny gold 
pen in her other hand was beating a slow, light, re¬ 
flective tapping on the pearly teeth between her 
parted red lips. We had come in more quickly than 
she had expected and, hearing us, she rose quickly, 
pushing the note or whatever it was she had been 
writing hastily into the drawer of the desk. 

“Good afternoon, Walter,” she smiled winningly 
at me, then with an interrogative look at Kennedy, 


122 


ATAVAR 


“Welcome to our tea-room, Mr. Kennedy. It looks 
pretty good, doesn’t it? Really I am a day ahead 
of time taking actual possession. All the things 
that I intend having done to it haven’t been com¬ 
pleted. But it will be some tea room before long. 
Come out and look it over as it is.” 

Dorothy Carfax was good company. She took 
my hand and tucked it up under her arm, then took 
Craig’s arm and led us about to inspect her tea 
room just as a mischievous little girl would take 
two little boy playmates to inspect her nursery or 
playhouse. Craig was amused, but he played the 
game the way she seemed to want to play it. 

“Mighty nice place if you can get the right kind 
of tea,” he sniffed. 

“That’s the least of my worries,” she murmured. 
“The getting is good. It’s the devilish worry to 
keep the fact from the wrong people. You never 
know who is going to squeal—and if the crowd gets 
too big, that in itself will look suspicious. I came 
to the conclusion that I couldn’t get in too much 
money at first. That’s why I want to be here the 
instant the receipts are mine.” 

A moment later she turned to me. “What did you 

think of that little-Fay? Wasn’t she the cat’s 

friend?” She said it with a scornful twist to her lips 
and a hard gleam in her eyes. “You saw her with 
my husband last night. And I have been telling her 
all sorts of things about my case! Now, I believe 
that little devil was a spy for my husband. I could 
shake the life out of her!” Dorothy looked to me 
as if she might be quite capable of it. 

“Didn’t you know she knew your husband?” 
asked Craig. 



ATAVAR 


123 


‘‘No!’’ She raised her voice unconsciously. “No, 
I didn’t. Before I am through with her, she will 
be sorry she knew him, too. She has been palling 
around with me and I know I must have said things 
at times to her that could be used against me. But 
—never mind. Sometime she’ll know that she has 
gone too far with me!” 

I saw that the subject needed changing. “I came 
up, Dorothy, to get that story, you know. Do you 
think the death of Hawtrey will make any differ¬ 
ence in your husband’s feelings toward you?” 

“Most certainly not! He hates me. Everybody 
tells me that. With Guy Hawtrey dead, he’ll be 
more determined than ever to fight me in the courts. 
'You see, he can say anything and there’ll be no 
worry that Mr. Hawtrey will fight back—interfere. 
He can lie, frame me, anything. No, I’m going to 
fight harder than ever. I’ll have to.” 

Craig was silent so far, but I knew that nothing 
that happened escaped his shrewd attention. “I’m 
sorry,” he said at length. “I wish I could help you.” 
She looked at him with a speculative glint in her 
eye. Kennedy ignored it. “Can’t you tell Jameson 
your story, simply, the story of your friendship with 
Hawtrey? That will be the best way for Jameson to 
write it—and it may help.” 

“That’s the way I’d like to have it,” I added, “just 
a simple, straightforward story. They help the 
most; they get over.” 

She drew us aside into a comer where there were 
no customers. “Well Walter,” she began, “it all 
happened suddenly. ... At first I didn’t like Mr. 
Hawtrey. I was afraid of him. I avoided him in 
every way. But Norman was making money with 


124 


ATAVAR 


Mr. Hawtrey. That pleased me. I had more than 
ever to spend on clothes and good times. But al¬ 
ways I avoided him. I thought much of Norman 
in those days. 

‘Tinally my husband said that Mr. Hawtrey 
thought I was angry at him, sore at him, that I must 
give him a dinner party. Norman made me. I did. 
Just the three of us. In the midst of the dinner 
Norman was called away very suddenly, by some one 
at the telephone. Guy Hawtrey told Norman he 
would take care of me until he came back. . . . 

^‘We finished the dinner. Afterwards I played 
and sang at the piano. Then Guy came over and 
sat down on the piano bench by me. After a while 
he asked me bluntly, ^Do you know how Norman 
is making all his money now?’ I looked at him, 
frightened, and shook my head. ^Rum running! One 
of our boats has come in, off the fishing banks, un¬ 
expectedly. That is what he is doing now—seeing 
to the trucks and the lightering of the stuff to them 
on shore.’ 

“He looked at me so earnestly I grew hot and 
cold all over from nervousness—about Norman, my 
fear of Guy, the consequences if we were discovered 
in that business—and I started to cry. Guy was 
sitting on one side of the stool and I was on the 
other, facing the piano. I put my head on the key¬ 
board to cry it out, to hide my tears. Then suddenly 
Guy turned, put his arms about my waist, pulled 
me to him and held my arms tight. He kissed me 
about my face until I was almost smothered. . . . 
Never shall I forget those hot lips pressed on mine 
—those eyes burning and searing into my soul. I 


ATAVAR 125 

fought—but that man had the strength and the 
passion of a demon. I actually fainted . . 

Dorothy was staring back into the past. There 
was a sudden bitterness in her voice. beheve 
those men knew what was going to happen! Nor¬ 
man Carfax—sold me to that brute—for money!” 

She closed her eyes as if a rapid succession of 
pictures, like a film, was unreeling before her. 

‘^Norman was away two days and two nights. . . . 
I saw much of Guy . . . And here is the strange 
part of it, perhaps, to you. From then, Guy Haw- 
trey was brute tenderness itself. Then I willingly 
let him love me. . . . His strength, his unlimited 
capacity for loving, proved, too much for me. I 
was a woman—and he was my master. He has been, 
always, since!” 

Her head by this time was down on the wicker 
table. She was sobbing now. I could not help 
thinking that sometimes these women who love so 
naturally, over whom the glamour of love falls so 
easily and ecstatically, sink into darker depths of 
misery and lonesomeness at the taking away of a 
loved one than do those women who let their heads 
rule them in their passions. Unbridled love often 
means unbridled grief. 

‘'Have you any letters—or pictures?” I prompted. 

“Yes—I have some pictures, here.” She passed 
me an envelope into which they had, evidently, 
hastily been slipped. 

Most of them were taken on board the yacht 
Dorothy and most of them were group pictures. 
There was one picture of Gaunt and Hawtrey 
standing together, but it seemed as if something had 
been cut ofi. It was out of proportion. 


126 


ATAVAR 


'‘Walter/’ she pursued as I looked them over, 
"several times I tried to break up this affair with 
Mr. Hawtrey. I would beg Norman to take me 
away. I begged Guy at first not to bother me— 
and then when he became interested in some one 
else it almost broke my heart. Instead of hating 
him—I came to hate this Natalie Lisle, Norman’s 
cousin, you know, who lived on the next estate. My 
life has been a hell! Think of it—Norman’s insin¬ 
uations, Guy’s later indifference, Gordon Gaunt’s 
incessant nagging to tell Natalie my past with Guy 
—and this girl herself!” 

"Have you any letters showing that you wanted 
to stop?” I asked, thinking of the sympathy the 
story would rouse. 

"I didn’t save copies of my own letters, of course. 
But here are some of Guy’s to me—and two from 
my husband. They tell the story.” 

I took them and opened one from Norman Carfax 
to his wife. It read: 

Dear Dot: Can that stuff about pulling out from Haw¬ 
trey and these cruises. It is filling all our pockets. Your 
last two letters made me sick. Be nice to Guy. It helps us. 
I have something nice for you. I bought it to-day. I am 
waiting impatiently to get home. 

Norman. 

I turned quickly and read the letter from 
Hawtrey: 

Dear Little Love: You just reach my heart, you know. 
What do you mean that you want me to stay away? If I 
stay away, Norman steps out of his partnership with me and 
I’ll have to tell him some things I know. You wouldn’t like 
that. Our last cruise down to. Nassau was too loving to have 
other lips repeating it and other ears hearing it. Remember, 


127 


ATAVAR 

dear, the last night, out on deck, under the stars, the cold 
bottle, the warm sweetheart, and the heavy lover? And you 
want me to stay away! Just for that—^I’ll stay until I hear 
from you. 

Guy; 

I looked up questioningly at her as I finished 
reading. She knew what was in my mind. 

‘^Yes! I called him. He was waiting for the call. 
.... He stayed all night with me.^^ She sighed 
wistfully. ^^And if he could come up here now— 
I would call again I 

Kennedy interposed quite frankly. ^'By the way, 
do you know anyone who had a key to Guy Haw- 
trey's house?" 

She snapped the answer out. surely do! Fay 
Blythe was an old flame of his. He had her before 
he met me. She stayed friendly with him, too, after 
he gave her up. No one could stay angry with Guy. 
She had a key—and used to go to see him. Some¬ 
times, when her money was low, he would take her 
in for a few days at a time. He didn't love her any 
more. It was his way. Anything he had ever 
fondled or loved he didn't like to think was suffer¬ 
ing from want. Yet—God!—^he would starve us, 
in the end, for the very thing we wanted most—^his 
love. You bet Fay Blythe had a key—the little 
devil!" 

So I was getting the Hawtrey-Carfax story, the 
letters and photographs, and the story of Gaunt's 
pressure on Dorothy to tell Natalie the story of her¬ 
self and Hawtrey, either to disgust Natalie or as a 
sample of what she might expect. Gaunt's pressure 
had taken the form of threats of trouble with the 
government for the bootlegging aboard the yacht. 


128 


ATAVAR 


and again threats of letters which he was prepared 
to hand over to her husband, he alleged. It was a 
sordid story in many aspects of buying and selling of 
love and, cropping out now and then, the new bit¬ 
ter estrangement between herself and Fay 

More and more patrons were arriving now. Some 
were dancing; some were having ^^tea.^’ Everybody 
seemed to be more or less happy. It is a big world. 
The cloud of tragedy is not even a sunspot in the 
perspective of the many. 

I could hardly believe my eyes when I saw Fay 
Blythe entering the Elinor Babbit. A thousand 
hasty thoughts flashed over me. She had nerve to 
come here. I knew she had nerve. But it was not 
nerve enough for that, I believed. I wondered if 
she knew that Dorothy Carfax had advanced her 
day of taking possession of the place. Fay was not 
flabbergasted; but her momentary surprise led me 
to believe that it was her mistake, that she had 
intended this to be one farewell visit before the 
transfer of right, title, and interest. 

Dorothy was white with passionate anger. Her 
nostrils twitched, her lips murmured words inco¬ 
herent, her eyes flashed ominously. ‘Wait, Walter, 
dear. I^m going to get a good snifter—one that will 
last!’^ She was gone. 

By the time Fay came up, for she knew everybody 
and everybody interrupted her progress, Dorothy 
had been in her dressing room several minutes. 

“Well, boys,’' she greeted, “what do you know 
about it?” 

“About what?” insisted Kennedy. 

“Guy Hawtrey’s murder, of course. There is some 
sorrow among the bootleggers to-day! This place 


ATAVAR 129 

seems to have enough that aren^t worried, though. 
Look at the contented faces 

I must have looked worried or too serious to 
please her. ‘What’s wrong, old scout?” Fay dug 
me in the ribs. “Didn’t my kick last night suit? 
You don’t look happy.” 

I was in no mood for banter. “Fay,” I hastened, 
“I’m worried over you. Dorothy Carfax is going 
to malve trouble for you.” 

“She can’t make trouble for me!” 

“Now just be reasonable. Fay. She just threat¬ 
ened you, to us. I wish you would go home. Will 
you go, if we take you?” 

Fay laughed loudly. “What’s biting her?” 

“Oh, you know as well as we do,” insinuated 
Kennedy, gravely. “She saw you with her husband 
last night. She isn’t exactly—pleased.” 

“Sol That’s the way the wind blows, is it? I’ll 
tell her she took my lover, so I am amusing myself 
v/ith her husband. Turn about is fair play. I sup¬ 
pose she thinks her meal ticket is dead; so she is 
going to get Norman Carfax back again, eh? She 
has some work cut out for her to get him back!” 
Fay laughed shrilly and harshly, the kind of laugh 
it is a pity to hear from a woman. 

“But you can’t fight here with her! She took 
over the room this forenoon, a day ahead of time, 
or something like that. She can have you put out.” 
Craig was admonishing. “You had better come 
along with us. May we get your wraps?” 

Fay considered; discretion won. “All right,” she 
said. 

But Fay had no chance. With a whirlwind rush 
Dorothy was upon her. She had entered the main 


130 


ATAVAR 


room from a small hall that ran parallel to the tea 
room and also led from the little room where we 
had first encountered her. She had beaten us to 
the exit by another way. 

Fay was pushed by the sudden onslaught of 
Dorothy close to a table by the side wall. Another 
blow and Fay was off her feet with her back on 
the table, screaming for help. 

On the next table stood a glass carafe of icy 
water. Dorothy calmly picked it up. If she had 
been a man she would have picked it by the slender 
neck and there would have been a casualty when it 
bounced off the prostrate head of her rival. Instead, 
it was Fay whom she held by the neck. Over hair 
and complexion and bewildering fluff and curve of 
filmy lingerie and hose and gown she poured the icy 
water, dashing it out in vicious showery spray. 

By this time we were over our surprise. Two or 
three grasped Dorothy from behind. I didnT know 
it was possible for one httle woman to make so 
much noise as Fay was making. She might have 
been scared into hysterics; or was she an actress? 
Even after Dorothy had released her hold Fay did 
not seem to know it. She still kicked and screamed, 
until one of the attendants lifted her bodily off the 
table. 

^^Get her out into a taxi, Walter,^^ I heard Craig 
whisper hastily to me. ‘‘And wait for me. We’ll 
take her home.” 

Craig disappeared through the same door that 
Dorothy had used when she surprised us as she 
entered just before the encounter. 

“Come out with me. Fay—please,” I whispered 
as soon as I could. “You don’t seem very popular 


ATAVAR 131 

here. Kennedy will join us later. Well wait for him 
outside.” 

Dorothy was glaring at Fay as her wrap was passed 
to me, and I got her away from Dorothy and her 
sympathizing patrons. 

It seemed that we were outside fully a quarter of 
an hour before Craig rejoined us, and I could see 
that he had much to tell and was only held back 
because of Fay. 

Not until Fay was putting on fresh clothes at 
the Gamorrah did Craig have an opportunity to spill 
his story. saw a chance,” he confided. “I went 
back to Dorothy’s dressing room and opened the 
drawer of the desk to see what that letter was which 
she had been writing when we came in.” 

‘What was it?” 

“A statement giving in detail her movements last 
night. She spent the night there in the dressing 
room of the tea room, she said; didn’t go to her 
hotel. That was how she got the idea of taking 
actual possession a day ahead of time. She was so 
angry and had had so much to drink that she was 
afraid something might happen if she should meet 
Fay at the Gamorrah. . . . She came in while I 
was reading it. She was disheveled and excited. 
When she saw me reading the statement she burst 
out into tears again. She gave a look as if I were 
Brutus. I tried to tell her I was really her friend 
and I think she was finally convinced. Then she 
calmed down. She had said she was getting it ready 
for the newspapers. She knew she would be inter¬ 
viewed sooner or later. So she sat down and finished 
the statement for me and I have it with me now. . . 

“Then I reminded her about my question of the 


132 


ATAVAR 


key^ to Hawtrey’s house, that she hadn’t stuck to 
the question, but had begged it when she talked 
about Fay having a key. Finally I pinned her down. 
‘Did you have a key?’ ” 

“And did she admit it?” 

“Yes, she said, ‘I had a key—^yes. And I had some 
letters—other letters. I’ve lost the letters and the 
key. They’ve been stolen—the key and the other 
Guy Hawtrey letters. Whoever has the letters—is 
it not likely the same person had the key?’ ” 

“What did she mean by that—Gaunt, her hus¬ 
band, whom?” 

Kennedy shrugged. “Perhaps she implied both. 
I could not get anything more definite.” 

One thing I was sure about, the jealousy of 
Dorothy Carfax over Hawtrey and Natalie. As to 
Dorothy’s temper, not only had I seen it, but I 
knew the adage, “Hell hath no fury like a woman 
scorned.” I found myself with a growing suspicion 
now of Dorothy Carfax as the woman in the case. 

I saw that Kennedy had been sniffing, and by 
this time the odor in the living room of the apart¬ 
ment was heavy with an overpoweringly sweetish 
scent. “What’s that fluzy smell?” I asked. 

Kennedy had already satisfied himself about it. 
It came from a lacquered metal bowl on a tripod that 
sat in an alcove between the living room and the 
bedroom, an incense burner, in which was slow- 
burning incense. 

Craig smiled. “Do you analyze that? Simple. 
Certain odors occasion pleasurable sensual feelings. 
The love of sensual women for perfumes indicates 
a relation between the olfactory and the sex cen¬ 
ters. It is sight and touch usually in man. It is 


. ATAVAR 


133 


the same with the ear as with the nose and eye. 
Emotional persons are often sex-excited by certain 
music. In fact, an exaggerated fondness for music 
is always suspicious as being of a sexual nature.’^ 

The door to the bedroom opened and Fay returned 
to us, reclothed and in a mind as near right as hers 
ever was. 

We did not have much opportunity to question 
Fay when her maid announced a visitor—Norman 
Carfax. 

suppose youVe heard the latest?’’ He nodded 
to us, as we met, then went on without an answer: 
‘T see in the papers that Gaunt, through his at¬ 
torney, has issued a statement telling just where he 
was last night, at the show, the cabaret, and at his 
apartment, and declines to be interviewed further. 
Well,” insinuated Carfax, ‘^that looks to me like as 
good a way as any to handle it. In other words, 
That’s my story and I stick to it’—eh?” 

It made me think of Dorothy’s statement which 
we had interrupted, of the alibis of Natalie and 
Roger. I tried to lead around to what Carfax had 
to say for himself. But we got no further than the 
cause of it all, Hawtrey, Hawtrey’s character—and 
morality in general. 

Carfax, like many a worldly wise man with a 
smattering of information, professed to have a scien¬ 
tific philosophy. There seemed to me to be more 
bitterness than philosophy in it. 

‘^Hawtrey, you know,” he frowned, “used to put 
it this way, that science has made morahty totally 
unnecessary. If you argued with him, he’d tell you, 
first, about birth control. I’ve heard him say often 
that there is really no need of this birth-control 


134 


ATAVAR 


agitation, that the flapper to-day has knowledge that 
must make Cleopatra green with envy/^ 

Carfax made no apology for his frankness before 
third parties with Fay present. Indeed, by his utter 
frankness he implied that she belonged to a new 
generation of Bohemian girls created by the war and 
conditions since the war. 

^‘Then, on the other side, and in the second place’^ 
he went on, ^‘Hawtrey used to argue that there 
were all sorts of societies for moral and sanitary 
prophylaxis, that they were removing the fear of 
disease from both men and women. Medical science 
had taken away from women the fear of disgrace— 
if they were careful. Humph! Consequences of im¬ 
morality? There are no consequences! Public 
opinion, social opinion, no longer frowns at things— 
except that you must not be raw about it. Now¬ 
adays, he used to say, immorality is fashionable; 
rawness only is plebeian.’’ 

^‘Specious,” was Kennedy’s guarded reply, ^^but, 
again, you cannot deny that the idea is extensive.” 
He paused a moment. ^Then you think, with 
Hawtrey life was sensual love? Well, sensual love is 
the only kind of love that a great part of humanity 
ever knows. It has no depth or duration. When it 
is satisfied, it cares no longer for the object for which 
it temporarily hungered. Such a lover loves only 
himself. His one object is to please his own be¬ 
loved T.’ The mate is only a means to the end of 
self-gratification. T love you’ equals T enjoy you.’ 
And when it is no longer satisfied, such dove’ will 
often change to passionate hate.” 

I saw Fay listening with appreciation, her eyes 
fixed on Kennedy. ^^And that hate doesn’t always 


ATAVAR 135 

have to take the form of crushing! It may be a 
crushing, lofty indifference!” 

Her voice was tense. It made me think of 
Dorothy^s: ^^Yet—God!—^he would starve us in the 
very end for the thing that we wanted most!” 
Kennedy saw it, saw that here was another of the 
love wrecks with which Hawtrey had strewn his 
career. His next remark was impersonal. 

'The hope of the Nordic race is to make straight 
thinking fashionable!” he exclaimed. "If you could 
only make people realize that the evolution of mo¬ 
rality from the paleolithic has a reason ^—that only 
along that line of reason lies happiness! . . . There 
is a scientific basis for morality and right living— 
not alone in a nation, a community, but in the in¬ 
dividual that makes the community and the nation. 
In the individual is recapitulated all the history of 
the race. In some way the impulse to promiscuity 
must be supplanted by the impulse to control pas¬ 
sion—not by community, legal compulsion, but by 
an innate desire for the fullest-romantic happiness 
in existence. 

"Science may do it. Religioil has not. Religion, 
so-called, has not even diminished man’s capacity 
for hate one iota. Of all hatred, religious hate is 
the worst, most cruel, remorseless, unforgiving. It 
delights in hprrible cruelty and has cursed humanity 
through the.ages with its burnings, its torturings, 
more than all other hates combined. Religion has 
failed when we produce Hawtreys and slayers of 
Hawtreys. Scientific religion has never had a 
chance. And if scientific religion should fail—then 
humanity will have to invent something greater than 


136 ATAVAR 

scientific religion—for humanity is incurably pro-' 
gressive—upward! 

^ Bitterness and denunciation of Hawtrey were all 
that we could get from Carfax; and in another way, 
from Fay, also. I began to'wonder whether it was 
a cover, at least for Carfax. 

Afterward, Craig and I were alone in a taxi. I 
took out the envelope that contained the pictures 
Dorothy had given me to publish with her story. 
Dumping them out, I .was Surprised to see a little 
package of snapshots^at had not been in the bundle 
of pictures l5orothy .g^ve, as I i;ecolleete& it. ' 

' Craig picSed them from my knees and we l(: 5 Qj?;ed 
sit ^them eagerly. Thb first were pictures bf Guy 
Hawtrey and Dorothy Carfax in hathing-feuits-about 
the deck of, the ysLcht : Dorothy.' ’Ip One ^orothy 
was sitting on his shoulders, her le^ ^bput his neck, 
and he was holding her feet to balance her. The 
next was a leap frogi picture, Ddrothy hopping hver 
Hawtrey’s back. All were intimate, daring. • I could 
imagine the gloating pleasure their posses5igm, would 
have given Norman Carfax as*exhibits in hi's suit.* 
The Jast was only a part of a picture, just a snap¬ 
shot of Dorothy alpAe. Craig pickbd up thp p^tjture 
of Hawtrey and GauAt together on the yael^t, the . 
odd-sized picture. Holding thfe two ^arts together, 
one could see the slightly iineven putting of the scis- 
spVs. I wondereci'why she had cut h^elf .d'ff the 
picture—until I thought more of the n^ore'int^ate 
ones sh'Q had neyer intended To giVe. . . • 

Kenne(?y shook his head. *‘^Sutlden freedom has 
gone to the heads'of unbalanced women—and men ] 
—driving them tq folly—mid worse/ Drink . 
drugs . . ; immor^ty—finally tragedy!” ’ . 


ATAVAR 


137 


‘‘Recall Kipling?’^ I remarked as I regarded 
Dorothy astride Hawtrey. “The Bronckhorst Di¬ 
vorce Case^—‘Most men and all women know the 
spasm. It ony lasts three breaths, as a rule . . . 
must be a throw-back to times when men and women 
were rather worse than they are now.’ ” 

Craig nodded. “Throw-back/’ he repeated. “Yes 
—that is it. These people are all throw-backs.” 

Later in the day Kennedy and I ran across 
Dunphy and with Dunphy was Boyle. They had 
been shadowing Carfax, among other things, Dunphy 
hanging grimly and persistently on the Carfax- 
Javary clew—rum running and bootlegging. 

Dunphy was propounding to Craig two alterna¬ 
tive theories—could it have been a fight between 
two women in which Hawtrey was murdered, or was 
it a fight between a man and a woman? 

I whispered to Boyle, aside, “What of the Carfax 
dictograph?” 

“Not a word over it!” he whispered back blankly. 

“Is it because he is too careful?” 

“Perhaps.” Boyle shrugged, at a loss. 

The more I thought of our aftemoon’s work, the 
more I felt that it directed suspicion toward Carfax 
—and Dorothy Carfax. 


CHAPTER VIII 


CLEWS 

“Some one has broken into the Hawtrey house/' 

It was Dunphy who had dropped into the lab¬ 
oratory a little after nine that night with the news. 

“Who?'’ demanded Kennedy. 

Dunphy shook his head. “A blonde in black— 
that’s all I know.” 

“How do you know that?” 

“From a kid. His parents told Mike Shannon, 
who is on duty there at night since we locked the 
place up.” 

“And how?” 

“From the roof.” 

“What for?” 

Dunphy shook his head in hopeless silence. 

“All right,” bustled Craig, “we’ll go around to the 
Hawtrey house; start with this Mike Shannon you 
have detailed on duty there.” 

It did not take us long to get there, and Shannon 
was eager to tell us whatever would put him in the 
best light. 

“It’s me that’s watching the place so sharp the 
ladies has to come in be the roof!” he started with 
a broad grin. “I been lonesome in this murder house 
and a bit of a party with a twist would ’ave cheered 
me up. Do you suppose it was me as she was after 
138 


ATAVAR 


139 


and now she might be crying her eyes out with the 
disappointment of me not seeing her?'^ He winked 
at me. 

^^Get down to business, Shannon,growled 
Dunphy. 

^‘Take us up on the third floor,’’ put in Craig. 
“You say she couldn’t have got below that?” 

Shannon nodded. It seemed that he had posted 
himself in the hall of the flrst floor, where he could 
watch the front door and miss nothing at the base¬ 
ment door. His post was such that he could see at 
any moment both the front stairs and the back, 
servants’, stairs. The doors to all the rooms, Haw- 
trey’s room, and the bedroom, on the second floor 
had been locked. As Craig tried it out, it was 
mighty unlikely that anyone could have crossed 
the creaky parquet floor above in the silent house 
and unlocked one of those doors without Shannon 
hearing. 

On the third floor it would have been different. 
There the turn of another flight of stairs cut off 
minor sounds. 

We made a hurried examination. 

“There’s nothing wrong here—except that it’s 
true the scuttle to the roof has been pried open, is 
stiU unfastened,” observed Dunphy. 

“Nothing?” Craig was standing in the door of a 
closet, perhaps a clothes closet, although now it 
was empty. 

He bent over and lifted up the corner of the mat¬ 
ting on the floor where a couple of tacks had been 
literally ripped through. 

“There’s nothing there,” reiterated Dunphy. 

“Nothing?” Craig pointed. “Do you see that floor 


140 


ATAVAR 


board, sawed into an oblong—no longer just one 
board He bent over it and flashed a light on it. 
‘^Yes ... it would fit back accurately if it was 
turned around. Some one lifted it out, replaced it, 
reversed.” 

Dunphy plunged forward to pick it up. But 
Kennedy restrained him. “Just a second, Dunphy 
—fingerprints.” Dunphy fell back as Craig with 
his pocketknife and mine lifted the oblong piece 
of board up, disclosing, sure enough, a little hollow 
compartment between the floor beams. 

Dunphy, wise now, took immediate possession of 
that precious bit of board. But Kennedy with the 
point of the knife pointed down as, indicated in the 
dust and dirt between the beams, could be made 
out the faint, incomplete outline of a revolver! 

Whatever it was, it was gone, before the police 
could complete the minute search of the house. 
Who had hidden it? The murderer—the murderess? 

“That disposes of the suicide theory,” I exclaimed. 

Kennedy merely shrugged. “Inger—some one, 
might have hidden it, to protect Hawtrey’s reputa¬ 
tion—then come and got it. Don^t be too hasty. 
Some one who loved him might have shot him. 
Equally well, some one who loved him might have 
covered up his suicide, if it were such. Until we 
get the person and the gun, we can’t do more than 
guess.” 

As I looked at the hollow compartment under the 
floor, I thought hastily of Inger, Dorothy, Fay— 
reluctantly, Natalie. 

“Now, Dunphy, take us around to see the kid. 
Some of these youngsters to-day are shrewd little 
chaps. I want to talk to the kid who saw her. 


ATAVAR 


141 


These kids are taught so many things in the schools 
that we didnT get. IVe heard of observation lessons 
where they are trained to see and retain in their 
memories dozens of things at a time after a glance 
of only a few seconds.’^ 

Embryo detective classes—eh?^^ 

‘Which house does he live in?’^ persisted Craig. 
“What^s his name?^^ 

“Next to the last in the row/’ returned Shannon. 
“His folks have the whole house. Their name is 
Gurnee and the kid’s name is Larry.” 

We left Shannon on guard and rang the Gurnee 
bell. A maid let us in and in a moment we were 
met by Mr. Gurnee and Larry, a bright youngster of 
about thirteen. 

Craig diplomatically took charge of the situation, 
and for once Dunphy was satisfied to remain in the 
background. 

“Mr. Gurnee, I am Craig Kennedy and we are 
working on this Hawtrey murder. We’ve heard 
that your son saw something, somebody up on the 
roof. Will you let him tell again just what he saw?” 

I saw Larry’s eyes brighten at the name of Craig 
Kennedy. He was as pleased as if Craig had been 
Babe Ruth or Jack Dempsey. 

“Larry, tell your story to Mr. Kennedy, just as 
you saw it.” With a smile to Craig, Mr. Gurnee 
added: “Without any movie stuff. Remember he 
doesn’t want romance; he wants facts.” 

Larry was an active youngster, high browed and 
athletic-looking. He seemed unconcerned as he be¬ 
gan telling what he had seen and talked in a clear, 
boyish manner that was easy to follow. 

“Mr. Kennedy, I had been listening in on my 


142 


ATAVAR 


wireless to a jazz band when suddenly I got nothing 
over it. It wasn't static. It was just silence. I 
tried to see what was wrong with my radio set. 
Everything seemed to be connected up all right in 
my room. So I went up on the roof to look at my 
a'rial. 

^When I got up there I found the pole on one end 
was down, the wire snapped oh from the insulator. 
I didn’t understand how it could have happened. 
There wasn’t any wind. But I set to work to fix 
it. It was pretty dark on the roof and it took some 
time to get it set up right again. You see, it was 
diagonally across from our front chimney to the roof 
of the house two doors down that’s a little higher. 
That brought part of the a’rial about to here.” He 
indicated about the height of his nose. 

“Well, I heard a noise not far away down the roofs 
in the other direction—towards Mr. Hawtrey’s 
house, you know, three houses up. I was a little bit 
frightened. I thought of burglars. I tiptoed back 
of our chimney and watched.” 

“Yes. . . . What did you see?” 

“The first thing I knew the scuttle on that Haw- 
trey house three doors up opened. That’s what I 
heard. And a woman came out. She was dressed 
all in black and had a hat on that covered her face. 
I couldn’t see her at all and she hurried over the 
roofs, over ours, and went down into the last house. 
That’s how she broke my a’rial, you see. She didn’t 
see me. I was back of the chimney, went around it, 
like they go around a tree, in the movies, you know, 
to hide. Both the scuttles must have been open 
at that time. She lifted back the one she went down, 
careful not to make any noise, and was gone.” 


ATAVAR 


143 


‘‘What did you do then, Larryasked Craig. 

‘finished fixing my aVial, of course, and came 
downstairs. Father met me in the hall and called 
me down for going on the roof in the dark.’^ He 
lowered his eyes, then, with a mischievous grin 
toward his father, continued: ^‘You see, Mr. Ken¬ 
nedy, I didn’t want to be scolded. So in order to 
change the subject, I told dad about the woman I 
saw on the roof. I thought it was funny—and he 
thought it was so important he forgot to scold me 
any more.” We laughed at the boy’s diplomacy. 
^Then dad asked me if I knew the house where she 
came out of, and it suddenly struck us both it was 
the house where Mr. Hawtrey had lived. So he 
took me up to see the cop there.” 

^‘Do you know the people who live in the house 
next door—the one she entered last?” asked Craig. 

^^No,” came back Mr. Gurnee. ^^It’s a rooming 
house. People come and go there all the time.” 

^There’s one thing more, Larry. Did you notice 
how she was dressed?” 

Larry’s face brightened. ^^She was all in black— 
had a cape, I guess you’d call it, black—^black 
gloves.” 

Kennedy turned to Dunphy. ‘^No fingerprints, 
then. She must have been a wise one.” Then to 
Larry, “That’s all you know, Larry?” He put his 
hand kindly on the boy’s shoulder. 

“Yes, Mr. Kennedy. You see, it was so dark up 
there, I couldn’t see her face. But she was all 
dressed in black. She seemed to have light hair, a 
lot of it—might have been a wig, hke some of these 
serial stars wear in the pictures, you know.” 

“Thank you, Larry. You make a good witness.” 


144 


ATAVAR 


We descended the Gurnee steps and turned up 
the steps of the rooming house next door. Pasted 
on the side post of the door was a white card on 
which the rain had made the ink run: 'Room to 
Let.’^ 

A colored maid ushered us into what had once 
been a back parlor, but was now the living quarters 
of the landlady, as well as her office.'' 

Kennedy bowed. "I saw the sign. I came in to 
find out about the room." 

She smiled, but shook her head. "I'm sorry, but 
that room has been taken. It's on the top floor. 
You see, a woman came here to-night, about dinner 
time, and took it." 

"I'm sorry. You have no other?" 

"No. I'm kind of sorry I let the woman have it, 
too. But it has been rented only for a week. If you 
could wait, I'd hold it for you. I'd rather rent to 
men . . . there aren't so many things to watch and 
worry about." 

She was inclined to be garrulous and we were in¬ 
clined to linger and take advantage of it. 

"I have some funny experiences, too," she went 
on. "This last woman has acted queer, very queer. 
She came here a little after six to-night, all dressed 
in black, with a heavy black veil over her." 

"Blonde?" broke in Craig, as if only blondes 
counted. 

"I didn't see. I wouldn’t know her if I met her 
again. Yes, blonde, I guess—only too much of it, 
too artificial. I didn’t think it was real. There! 
The only thing I know is that she was slender. She 
made inquiries about the room and seemed pleased 
that it was on the top floor. 'I like quiet,' she said. 


ATAVAR 


145 


‘^All her baggage was a suitcase, and she carried 
that up to her room herself. I gave her the key and 
sent the maid up to help her. She wouldn’t let 
Susie do a thing for her, but gave her a good-sized 
tip. Well, now. It’s always my custom about nine 
o’clock to go through the halls and see that every¬ 
thing is all right before I go to my room. When I 
went up to the top floor I found her door shut, with 
the key in the lock on the outside. I says to myself, 
That’s strange,’ and I knocks. No answer. I 
opened the door. There wasn’t a soul there. Even 
the woman’s suitcase was gone. She hasn’t come 
back yet, either. But she has a receipt from me 
showing she has paid for a week in advance. So,” 
she shrugged, can’t rent that room for a week.” 

Kennedy managed to get her to take us up to see 
the room against a veiled promise to take it next 
week. He seemed to be a very nervous gentleman 
tenant, examined locks and blank walls outside, even 
worried over the roof. By that means he got to 
look at the scuttle. 

^There!” he exclaimed, almost as if it settled the 
matter with him. ^‘See! It’s unhooked! Oh, my!” 

‘‘Now, for the land sakes!” deprecated the land¬ 
lady. “How did that happen! I could tell you 
some strange things about lady roomers—^but I never 
had ’em with visitors from the sky before!” 

We had found out about all we could find and 
Craig seemed to have his nervousness calmed when 
she told him it wouldn’t happen again. 

“She didn’t see her face,” he remarked, outside, 
“but she was slender and dressed in black. That 
doesn’t help much. All the girls we know in whom 
Hawtrey has ever been interested are slender— 


146 


ATAVAR 


Inger has the slenderness of ill health and age creep¬ 
ing on her; Natalie the extreme slenderness of 
youth; Dorothy’s slenderness suggests diet, exer¬ 
cises, more alcohol than she can assimilate; Fay has 
the slenderness of a dancer, too much exercise to 
accumulate fat.” 

Kennedy went into an analysis of the situation so 
far. I asked myself: Where was that gun? Who 
knew of it—Inger, Javary, Gaunt, or Gerard; Nata¬ 
lie, Fay, Norman, or Dorothy Carfax? 

^‘In other words,” concluded Craig, ^Vho was the 
striking blonde in black who pried open the roof 
scuttle, darted down the ladder, ripped the matting 
from the floor of the closet, lifted up the board over 
the secret hiding place, then rushed out of the house 
clasping beneath her cape whatever she had filched 
from the hidden nook in the floor? If we can find 
her, we shall have our best clew to the murderer of 
Hawtrey! ” 

^That’s the question,” repeated Dunphy, as 
though he had discoverd it himself, ^Who is the 
woman in black? I’m giving orders right now to 
shadow all the women in this case’—and report in 
the morning.” 

Early the next morning a man who was anything 
but the proverbial type of “flatty” presented himself 
at the door of our apartment. 

“I’m Stein—one of Dunphy’s operatives,” he in¬ 
troduced, simply. “I been detailed to watch that 
Inger Dean. They give me a relief, told me to come 
here and report to you.” 

Kennedy nodded encouragingly and Stein went 
on. “When they locked up the murder house the 
commissioner says not to detain any of them as 


ATAVAR 


147 


material witnesses, to let ^em go ; they^d tell more 
by what they done. This Inger give as her address 
a street over in South Brooklyn, where she said she 
had relatives. I picked her up there last night when 
I got orders. It was pretty late, hnost midnight. 
Anyhow, I took up a position and watched the 
house. I donT know when she come in, but pretty 
soon she comes out, kinda nervous-like. She didn’t 
see me, of course. Well, she started walking, me 
after her. She went into Prospect Park—down 
along the lake. It was harder to follow her in the 
park, but I tailed her all right and she never got 
wise to me. She walks around till she gets to the 
lake, then down off the walk across the grass out on 
a little point. I thought maybe she was going to 
jump in or something. But, no! Do you know 
what she done? She threw something from under 
her coat into the lake. I heard it splash.” 

^Then what?” 

'^She almost ran away. I ran across, marked 
where she was standing and the direction where I 
heard the splash. Then I followed her, picks her up 
again. She went right back home, almost as if the 
devil was after her.” 

^Wou marked the location?” 

“Yes, sir. I got one of the Park Depart¬ 
ment boats, grapplers, everything, this morning. I 
thought, Mr. Dunphy thought, maybe you’d like to 
go with me?” 

“You bet!” exclaimed Kennedy, eagerly. 

So it was that in the early morning we commuted 
backward, so to speak, against the beginning sub¬ 
way rush from Brooklyn. 

At the boathouse the boat and all the apparatus 


148 


ATAVAR 


were waiting for Stein and we were out on the park 
lake before any pleasure seekers. 

Stein was a keen type, increasingly common in 
the police department. How accurate his observa¬ 
tion had been may be seen from the fact that it was 
not quite an hour after our boat arrived at his desig¬ 
nated spot when we fished up out of the lake a .38 
caliber revolver. 

Stein looked at me and I looked at Kennedy. 
“Take us around to that place where she lives,” he 
said, simply, to Stein. 

It was a little frame two-family house, in the 
lower part of which was now the temporary home 
of Inger. It was a far cry from the country mansion 
and town house of Hawtrey. 

As we rang the bell I could hear the voice of 
Inger, calling to some one in the house, “IT answer 
the beU.” 

Craig was inside the door before she had recov¬ 
ered from her surprise at seeing us. Her color 
faded as she half whispered, “Mr. Kennedy!” But 
she overcame her surprise and asked us into a small 
front room fixed up as a “parlor”—furniture in 
golden oak, the kind that comes from installment 
houses, drawers that stick, and chairs that creak. 
About the walls were crayon portraits of Inger’s 
relatives looking down with solemn disapproval 
at us. 

Inger sat down after we were seated and looked 
at us anxiously. 

“Well, Inger,” began Kennedy, “I suppose you are 
wondering why we have come over so early in the 
day to see you.” 

With a nervous nod she took out her handker- 


ATAVAH 149 

chief and began to play with it, pleating it with the 
greatest care. 

^'Are you happy here, Inger?’^ asked Craig. 

‘^As happy here as I can be anywhere, now,’^ she 
managed to reply. The unshed tears glistened in 
her eyes. ‘^My cousin’s two little children will help 
me get through.” 

‘What are you going to do to pass the time?” 
pursued Kennedy. “Do you think you will stay 
with Natalie Lisle at the theater?” 

“No!” It was most emphatic, and her dark eyes 
glowed with a sudden hatred. “That part of my 
life is done.” 

“What do you do over here? What did you do 
last night?” 

She looked at Kennedy, stifling an instant fear. 
“I took a walk,” she answered, stiffly. 

“Was it early—or late?” 

She was very quiet, looking him over apprais¬ 
ingly. At last she answered. “I don’t know what 
to say. If I tell you folks my business, it will go 
against me—and if I don’t, it will.” 

Craig waited for the answer and his eyes told her 
that she would have to answer. She folded and 
unfolded the handkerchief. 

“I took a walk—^late,” she blurted out, finally, in 
haste. “I tried to sleep in the early part of the 
night, but I couldn’t. Always I saw Mr. Hawtrey in 
that chair. The thought of his awful death kept me 
awake. I cried a lot, too. Finally I dressed and 
walked over to the park. I thought if I got tired it 
might stop my mind; I could sleep.” 

“I understand,” Craig sympathized, searching the 


150 


ATAVAR 


woman^s weary sad face. ‘^Did what you carried 
under your coat make you nervous?’^ 

Inger stirred uneasily. ^^Under my coat?” she 
parried. 

'^Yes, Inger. The thing you threw in the lake.” 

She looked wildly and helplessly at Craig. It was 
too sudden. She lifted her feet to the rung of the 
chair, elevating her knees and clutching wildly at 
them, head bent over them, too, as she cried as if 
her heart would break. 

“Oh, Guy! You had my youth. I gave you love. 
You had my middle age . . . and I gave you service. 
Now, oh, Guy! is it my life you want?” Wild sobs 
quivered her body. 

“Cry it out, Inger. Afterwards . . . tell us the 
truth! ” 

She leaped from the chair. “Why should I tell 
you anything—you bloodhound!” 

“Simply because of this, Inger. You were seen to 
throw it in the lake in the park last night.” 

Craig showed her the gun in the palm of his hand 
as he pulled it from his pocket. 

“The detective has the wet wrappings outside.” 

Inger regarded the gun, Kennedy,—beaten, de¬ 
jected, crushed. 

“Tell us about it, Inger,” urged Craig. “I have 
come to you, insisted on it, myself. I didnT want 
Dunphy or some of those others to harass you—too 
much.” 

She had dropped again to the edge of the chair, 
hands forlornly folded in her lap, eyes glazed with 
a haunting fear. 

“Yes ... it was my gun ... a thirty-eight . . . 
but the bullet that killed Guy didn’t come from 


ATAVAR 


151 


that. I swear it! ... I was afraid somebody would 
find it, so I went out late last night and threw it 
away where you men must have found it ... I was 
afraid you’d find it—and now you have! 0 God! 
what it means to be hounded this way! I don’t care 
how soon I die, now that Guy has gone!” 

^Why did you own a gun, Inger?” persisted 
Kennedy. 

Still in the hopeless monotone, she continued. 
‘^Guy was fond of shooting. In the early days when 
we were lovers, after I left the chorus, he taught me 
how. Every time I made a good shot or hit the 
mark, he would kiss me. Then one day he gave me 
that gun. I always kept it until last night. Then I 
grew afraid to have it with me. That is all I can 
tell you about the gun.” 

She looked speculatively, I thought, at Craig, out 
from under her half-closed lids. 

‘^Just one thing. Where did you keep it?” 

'Tn my dresser.” 

^^No other place?” 

‘T brought it over here in my suitcase.” Ken¬ 
nedy endeavored to tangle her. ‘That is all, Mr. 
Kennedy,” she snapped. 

Kennedy tried another approach. But she quickly 
penetrated it. For a full minute she regarded him, 
then spoke, in a bitter tone! 

“Wait, Mr. Kennedy. I have a letter I want to 
give you. If I am suspected, I’ll have to fight for 
myself, no one else. I haven’t half a dozen men 
fighting for me. I have lost beauty and youth.” 
She was calm in her bitterness. “I’ll be right back.” 

As Inger left the room, I pondered over her story. 
Was it the truth she had been telling? After all, it 


152 


ATAVAR 


was a .38 that had killed Hawtrey. Also she had 
admitted to us that he had once loved her—and 
ceased. Did jealousy die? 

Inger re-joined us. Boldly now she made known 
her position. “Yes. The man I loved made me wait 
on my rival! . . . and for the crumbs of affection I 
got from Guy Hawtrey I strangled my feelings. But 
I hated Natalie Lisle—and I spied on her every 
chance I got. He made me wait on her!^^ There 
was danger in that shrill bitterness^ and she con¬ 
tinued. “I read her notes. . . . Some I took and 
kept. Always I was hoping I would find one that 
would settle forever Guy Hawtrey’s love for her. I 
knew why he put me there. He counted on my 
jealousy—to keep Natalie Lisle for him—or tell him 
when she was not his! It was terrible. How I 
watched to get her—just once!’^ 

Inger raced on venomously. “This letter came a 
couple of days before the premiere of ^Astarte/ to 
Natalie Lisle. It is from Mr. Gaunt, another neigh¬ 
bor of the Lisles\ I want you to read it. It may 
throw light on this awful murder.^^ 

Craig and I read it in astonishment: 

Dear Natalie: 

I hope you haven’t forgotten that the mortgage has been 
long overdue. I don’t like to make you worry over the pay¬ 
ment of it, but some terms should be arranged concerning it. 

You will soon be famous for your wonderful talent and 
marvelous beauty. Maybe I would rather have those than 
the rather large sum of money represented by the mortgage, 
than all the gold in all the world 

Think it over carefully, Natalie—and no more about it 
until after the premiere. 

I want to reach some agreement, Natalie. While you are 
considering what I would rather have you say than to pay 


ATAVAR 153 

the money, my most passionate love goes out to you—and 
only to you. 

Yours for the future, 

Gordon Gaunt. 

^^How did you get this letter?’’ demanded 
Kennedy. 

‘^It came to the theater. Natali© Lisle read it and 
put it under a book of Mr. Gerard’s that she had 
been reading. When she went out, I read it—and 
kept it.” Inger said it vindictively. 

Almost all the sympathy I had had for her during 
the recital of the gun story was lost. Now she was 
the relentless older woman seeking to crush her 
young rival. 

‘Wou notice, Mr. Kennedy,” she added in a hard 
tone, ^^that Mr. Gaunt does not say anything about 
marriage in that letter! I know from experience 
what letters hke that from wealthy men mean!” 

Even after we had left, those words rang in my 
head. There was a veiled meaning back of that 
hardness. I wondered at what Inger was driving. 

Briefly, Inger’s story had come to this: that this 
was not the gun that did it, that she had been afraid 
to keep this gun, that she had been afraid of being 
suspected. In her venom she had given us a letter 
sent to Natahe from Gaunt, just before the premiere, 
reminding her of the mortgage. It recalled to me 
Roger Gerard the night of the premiere, when he 
told us of Natalie and Gaunt and the mortgage. 

^^But what of Natalie—the Lisle fortune?” I asked 
Craig, now that we were alone again. 

Craig shrugged. ‘‘You know the old saying— 
‘Three generations from shirt sleeves to shirt 
sleeves’!” 


154 


ATAVAR 


I had been glad to get away from Inger, impor¬ 
tant as I recognized her clews to be. I had prom¬ 
ised over the telephone to look in on Boyle of the 
prohibition enforcement office and I was eager to 
know what had happened in the matter of the Car- 
fax-Javary pact. 

^'What about the ten-thousand-dollar reward?” I 
asked as we found Boyle. 

^^Glad you came in,” greeted Boyle, all smiles. 
‘TheyVe broken the silence over the dictograph.” 

^mo? When?” I demanded. 

^This morning. Carfax and Javary, both, in his 
room.” 

‘What did they say?” 

“I’m having it transcribed on the typewriter. But 
I can tell you the important parts, for both of us. 

^ Javary asked Carfax if the rum running would con¬ 

tinue. Carfax said, ‘You’re darn right it will!’ 
Then Javary asked him where he was going to get 
the money, now that Hawtrey was out of it. Car- 
fax said, ‘I can get all the money I need in a lot of 
places. Why, I can get all I need in one place, 
Javary—from Natalie Lisle herself!”’ 

“What did he mean by that?” cut in Craig. 

Boyle was serious. “That’s the question. Now 
what did he mean? I leave that to you, if you think 
it’s important, for your case. What was important 
for my case came afterward.” 

“What was that?” 

“I found out from Javary’s admissions over the 
dictograph to Carfax, and I have checked it up 
afterward by quizzing Javary himself in another 
hotel, where he was that night, what it was he has 
told Dunphy. So we have all the cards. They don’t 


ATAVAR 155 

know of the dictograph; think I got it from 
Dunphy/’ 

Where was he?’’ 

^^He says he spent the night, after the show, at 
the Pirates’ Cave—you know the place?” 

^Tve heard a great deal about it; cabaret and all 
that,” I replied. 

Boyle nodded. ^We’ve been trying to get the 
dope on that place, get it right, for some time. 
Say,” he added, ^^did you know that that used to be 
the residence of Corinne Carfax, the grandmother of 
Natalie Lisle, grandaunt of this Norman Carfax?” 

“Corinne Carfax, the actress, of the old White 
Crook^ company?” returned Kennedy, interested at 
once, for Kennedy was more of a student of the his¬ 
tory of the stage and of the old city of New York 
than I was. 

“That’s the Corinne Carfax,” agreed Boyle. “And 
that’s the place she lived in—now this Pirates’ Cave 
cabaret. I don’t suppose you know, but she used to 
play that show in the old Union Theater down on 
the corner below on Eighth Avenue. She had a 
private passageway built from her dressing room in 
the theater down to the house; all walled up, now.” 

Kennedy nodded. “I’ve heard something of the 
traditions of those days. I must look it up.” 

“Well, when you do, if you want anything of the 
recent history—just call on me.” Boyle slapped a 
filing cabinet lovingly. “I’ve got a lot of it, right 
here, along with hundreds of other places in the city 
—just waiting for the time when the government 
wants to take action, padlock ’em, close ’em up for 
a year.” 

We thanked Boyle for his information and his 


156 


ATAVAR 


offer and proceeded on our way up to the laboratory. 

There Doctor Leslie was waiting for us. Leslie's 
face wore a puzzled look. 

^What's on your mind?" prompted Kennedy, 
think it's more to be on your mind," Leslie 
returned. *T've just got some information from one 
of the assistants down at the district attorney's 
ofl&ce. A lawyer, attorney in many things for Haw- 
trey, Justus James, has offered the will of Hawtrey 
for probate." 

^‘Well?" asked Kennedy, more than mildly in¬ 
terested. 

^Tt's the terms that will puzzle you. Inger Dean 
comes in for an annuity to be purchased out of the 
estate to net her one hundred dollars a week for the 
rest of her life. Javary gets ten thousand dollars 
outright." 

“What?" I interrupted with a quick look at Craig 
as I recollected that Carfax had said over the dicto¬ 
graph the other night that Javary’s debts amounted 
to about that same figure. 

Leshe nodded. “Ten thousand—Javary," he re¬ 
peated. “The remainder of the estate, after these 
and certain other bequests are taken out, goes to 
Natalie Lisle!" 

It was Kennedy's turn to be electrified. It had 
been piling Ossa on Pelion; the jealous hatred from 
the past, of Inger; Javary's debts and the prob¬ 
lematical offer of ten thousand dollars by Carfax if 
he would turn state's evidence to betray Hawtrey. 
And now, what about Natalie Lisle—and the mort¬ 
gage—and the past? 

I had shifted from Roger to Javary and Carfax. 
How had Carfax known that Natalie would have 


ATAVAR 


157 

money? Had he known? Or was he just a black¬ 
mailer—^hoping? Above all, what hold had he on 
her to get it from her—^as he had implied to Javary, 
just now? I felt a growing suspicion, shifting to 
Carfax. 


CHAPTER IX 


LIBIDO 

Kennedy was neglecting neither Natalie nor 
Roger, although for the greater part of the rest of 
the day I did not see him. It seemed that, late in 
the afternoon, when we met again at our apartment, 
he had already heard about every rumor that had 
come to my ears. 

What was principally on his mind now was the 
report that Gordon Gaunt was ardently ^^rushing’' 
Natalie at every performance of ^^Astarte,” playing 
cleverly through his friend Wagner, the impresario. 
It was that that decided Craig upon the evening’s 
program, which was no less than to go to the 
^^Astarte” performance, contrive to outwit Gaunt, 
and carry off Natalie himself. 

suppose you have it all doped out how you will 
do it,” I doubted, remembering several encounters 
of my own when I had sought to steal a fellow’s 
girl—and found that there was more to that Sabine 
women story than just the mere carrying of them off. 

Kennedy nodded, but not over-confidently. 
“Natalie is known—^has admitted that she was at 
the Pirates’ Cave the night of the murder of Haw- 
trey, with Hawtrey. I think she will accept my 
challenge to go there again—^because she can hardly 
avoid it.” That was as far as Craig would commit 
himself. 


158 


ATAVAR 


159 


If anything, the theater crowd at the American 
was more brilliant, more expectant, larger than on 
the night of the 'premiere of ‘‘Astarte/’ Natalie was 
the chief topic of conversation. The pretty debs 
were going to have a good look at that gown in the 
last act with the secret intention of slaying the 
scions of wealth by stealing its suggested frothiness 
and enhancement. The boys of the younger set 
came to worship. This girl had family, apparent 
wealth, and talent. Besides, she had the added 
thrill of being in some way involved with the cause 
celebre of the day. To the young, newspaper noto¬ 
riety is distracting; to the old detracting. 

We did not see Roger Gerard, Gordon Gaunt, or 
Norman Carfax as we entered, but as the first act 
was ending Craig whispered, “I want to see Natalie 
now. Later, you see Fay. . . . We’ll join you after 
the performance at the Pirates’ Cave.” 

I was not averse. Fay could never be called dull. 
But there was, of course, no comparing the girls. 
Fay was just a sexy young person. But Natalie was 
a curious combination of beauty, soul, and eroticism. 

Back stage we were admitted to the star’s room 
by a young woman evidently taking the place of 
Inger. Craig had already sent an usher with a note 
scribbled bn the back of a card, and the usher had 
come back with word that Miss Lisle would see us 
after the first act, as he had desired. 

^^More charming than ever! Good evening, Miss 
Lisle. How you youngsters can work hard and 
dance for hours, besides—and then look as fresh as 
a rosebud just opened—^is a puzzle to me.” Craig 
bowed with ardent ceremony over her extended 
hand. 


160 


ATAVAR 


Natalie laughed. ‘^And how you men can see a 
dozen different girls, make a dozen pretty speeches 
over each of them—and then have a speech left as 
flowery and sweet as the one you just made is puz¬ 
zling to me! How do you do it?’^ 

Craig regarded her with grave amusement under 
his lashes and I joined with Natalie in laughter. 

^^Have you seen Roger Gerard?’^ asked Craig, 
casually. 

But Natalie did not answer casually. ‘^No, I 
haven’t—and I feel worried over Roger. He doesn’t 
seem like himself.” She watched Kennedy’s face 
keenly and I wondered whether her own look was 
tinged a bit with fear. 

“Roger is a fine fellow,” hastened Kennedy. “He 
thinks the world of you, Natalie. ... I think his 
chief business in life just now is safeguarding you 
and your happiness.” 

“Yes ... he was always that way. Back in our 
youngster days he was the same. He would hammer 
any kid that didn’t behave just right to me.” 
Natalie leaned her head on her hand and seemed to 
look for a second retrospectively, while a tender 
smile played about her lips. 

“It’s a wonder you two never teamed up. . . . 
He has aU the attributes for a successful career, too 
—good looks and, God knows, an all-overpowering 
love.” 

Natalie was silent a moment, busily touching up 
her make-up. But I could see she was thinking 
about Craig’s enthusiasm for Roger. Craig added, 
“At college he was one of the whitest and most 
popular men in the class. Everybody who was on 
the level liked him-” 


ATAVAR 


161 


Craig would have said more. But Natalie turned 
in her chair suddenly, leaned forward and put one 
little hand on Craig’s knee, then raised it and shook 
a little white finger at him as she cried, merrily, 
‘Why don’t you speak for yourself, John?” 

She turned away as quickly as she had said it. 
Craig did not hesitate. 

“All right—I will.” 

Craig watched her gathering her things up hastily, 
preparing for her next entrance. Then he took her 
little hand and held it tightly as a softened light 
came into her eyes and he bent closer. “Let me 
take you to supper after the show? Please!” 

He gave the little hand another gentle squeeze. 
She looked at him steadily for some seconds. In 
another minute she would have to leave. With a 
short laugh and a toss of her head she murmured, 
“Yes.” 

“All right! Fine! I’ll make the reservations im¬ 
mediately. . . . We’ll go the Pirates’ Cave.” 

She frowned, startled, and hesitated a minute. 
But she had received her call. She must go now 
right away. For a moment their eyes met. She 
read the challenge in Craig’s. 

With a whirl of golden chiffon draperies and a 
hasty nod of agreement she left the room. 

How bare it seemed without that girl’s flaming 
personality. Craig stood in the middle of the room, 
in the identical attitude. I saw in his face just what 
I had felt when Natalie left. He took a step or two, 
gripped the back of her chair with an intensity that 
caused me to regard him narrowly. 

“Falling—for Priscilla?” I could not resist it; 
and there was a pang in the words. 


162 


ATAVAR 


. . . but . . His eyes were far away. 
'‘Isn't she a wonder ... a winsome wonder?" 

As we made our way back to our seats we could 
see Gaunt sitting alone, in the back of his box. 

“I rather imagine I have beaten him to it, to¬ 
night," whispered Craig. 

“I will try to see Fay during the next intermis¬ 
sion." 

“Yes, Walter. She owes you a debt of gratitude— 
getting her away from Dorothy the way you did 
yesterday. I'll stay here while you see her." 

We were sorry to disturb others in our row, but 
as the spectacle mounted to one of its high spots, I 
hope it was forgotten. Who could talk or think, 
when Natalie danced? 

When the next intermission rolled around I left 
Craig and hurried back to find Fay. She was in a 
merry mood and jumped up to greet me. Her hand 
on my shoulder, she leaned mighty close to me and 
did not seem to mind the presence of other people. 

“Sure I'll go with you, Walter. I love pirates! 
You're a dear boy. . . . That was some shower I 
received yesterday, eh? I haven’t thawed out com¬ 
pletely yet. . . . You’ll have to give me something 
to warm me up; I'll need it." 

We both laughed hilariously at the memory of 
yesterday's encounter. “I'll be back here for you as 
soon as the performance is over. Fay." 

“Thanks so much, old dear." She blew a kiss off 
the tips of her fingers. Running lightly ahead, she 
kicked out as if she were kicking the kiss in my 
direction. With another wave of her hand she was 
gone to change her costume. 

I wondered why these alluring butterflies, pos- 


ATAVAR 


163 


sessed of so much that is good—^happy natures, 
beauty, generosity to the extreme^—why so many of 
them came to untimely ends and unhappy mar¬ 
riages. They lack stabihty of character. Without 
that ability to work, to hang on in the face of 
trouble, or necessity, or great pleasures, they fall by 
the wayside. It takes character to see it through. 

On my way back, I passed the door of Natalie’s 
room. I heard a man arguing, insisting on some¬ 
thing within the room. Finally Natalie answered 
him with finality in her tone. 

‘^No, Gordon. I have given a promise to a friend. 
I can’t break it. Not to-night. I have an engage¬ 
ment I must keep. To-morrow night I will save for 
you. Please—be kind. Don’t scold—don’t start 
anything now, Gordon, please. I have to go on 
again in a few minutes. I must be calm.” 

A moment later I saw the knob turn and I stepped 
d)ack of some flats of scenery. No sooner had Gor¬ 
don Gaunt shut the door between them than I heard 
a muttered volley of oaths under his breath that 
would have done credit to any teamster. As he 
passed quickly, striding to the exit, I heard, ^T’ll 
break his damned neck for him—if I find out who 
it is!” 

The next act had not started before I was back 
with Kennedy. 

hope you’re a leather neck,” I laughed. 

Craig merely smiled as I retailed Gaunt’s extrava¬ 
gant language. ‘Tossession is nine points in the 
law,” was his quiet retort, “sometimes ten—or 
eleven.” 

So it was that I preceded them with Fay to the 
Pirates’ Cave. I entered into the thing with en- 


164 


ATAVAR 


thusiasm. I approved of the idea, with Kennedy 
and Natalie, myself and Fay, to try out a sort of 
third degree on Natalie. 

Fay and I were enjoying the crowd and the antics 
of a little dancer with the unique talent of dancing 
grotesquely, divinely. She received a large stipend 
each week, I understood, for her unusual act, and 
seemed to be popular with the patrons of the place. 
It was hard enough to get a table. 

Craig and Natalie arrived. Natalie was the pret¬ 
tiest thing I have seen in a long time. On the pro¬ 
grams at the American Opera I had read that 
Natalie designed all her own costumes. They were 
unusual, and to-night as she walked lightly up to 
the table there was a spontaneous acclaim for her 
beauty. 

Her gown was bright red silk tarletan, a gown the 
freshness of which was only for a night. Extended 
at the hips, it assumed bouffant proportions at her 
feet. Row upon row of pleated tarletan flounces 
were so light and airy, it seemed that Natalie was 
surrounded by a red gleam from a summer sunset. 
Her slim little waist was girdled by a festoon of real 
orchids which I learned from Fay was the ultra-fash¬ 
ionable mode of the moment, this passion for real 
flowers to decorate gowns. 

The waist was simple, little tight folds of red 
about her body; no trimming. Out of this her white 
shoulders and bust rose with cameo distinctness, 
startlingly white against the vivid red. I always 
thought red was for brunettes, but when I saw Nat¬ 
alie that night in her red tarletan and gloriously 
golden hair that old idea of red and brunettes van- 


ATAVAR 165 

ished into a fallacy. Craig was a splendid foil for 
her in his severely black evening clothes. 

He looked around for me and I caught his eye 
even before the head waiter led them to the reserved 
table to which Fay and I had preceded them. Nat- 
ahe and Fay exchanged remarks about the show, 
while I had a chance now to observe the Cave. 

Its ceiling had been decorated to resemble the 
stalactites seen in some caves along tropical waters. 
Powdered mica provided the glistening, with the aid 
of many little electric bulbs cleverly concealed. 

The tables were rough and in the center of each 
was a pile of money-bags, stuffed, light, fine for 
throwing when the guests grew hilarious in the small 
hours. The seats were rude benches, and at some 
tables antiqued flat-top chests, reminiscent of ‘‘Yo- 
ho-ho’’ and fifteen men (to say nothing of fifteen 
girls)—and a bottle of rum. Black flags and the 
skull and cross-bones prevailed everywhere that the 
pirates who ran the place could put them to divert 
attention from the scale of prices. 

The waiters were picturesque. All of them wore 
red or yellow silk bandannas about their heads. 
Brightly checked shirts, open at the throat, lent 
realism to this costume. From their ears dangled 
plain ^^gold^’ earrings, and about their waists were 
gaudy sashes. Black velvet knee breeches and shoes 
with bright buckles completed the fanciful attire. 
All carried dirks stuck in their sashes. 

I turned to Craig as I noticed them. “I donT 
beheve there are many arguments over short change 
in this place; the dirks are too handy—and some of 
them might be real!’^ 

Natalie was ail animation. Her vivid gown, the 


166 A T A V A R 

bright colors, the music made a scene that fostered 
animation. 

A few moments later the big feature of this after- 
theater entertainment began. On the stage at one 
end had been built the stem of an old-time frigate. 
From this extended a plank high in the air and 
directly under the plank was a pool of water sur¬ 
rounded by plants and the tables of patrons. 

There was a scream and on the stem came a 
young girl portraying, by pantomime and dancing, 
great fear of two dancing pirates behind her. Her 
steps became uncertain; she begged for help. Then 
as she came to the plank she was blindfolded. She 
stepped farther and farther out on the plank. Her 
feet would slip; she would catch herself, always 
with the most inimitable grace. It was a show, 
with realism in it. Whenever she stopped, she w^as 
prodded forward at the point of painted cutlasses. 

In her filmy clinging gown she had the form of a 
child. Finally her little foot came to the end of the 
plank. She screamed again with fear. Then sud¬ 
denly she flung her filmy draperies off and stood 
revealed in a tight-fitting white-satin bathing suit. 
Another scream—and a beautiful dive. In a second 
the girl, who knew how to dive like a shell in shal¬ 
low water, rose from the pool, bowing, laughing, 
throwing kisses to the people about her. Another 
pirate rushed up, seized her, ran out of the room 
with the dripping girl in his arms, amid the cheers 
of the diners and dancers. 

Craig had improved the opportunity to make 
inquiries, first of the head waiter, near us, as to 
Javary. The head waiter had been off some time 
during that particular night, but he asserted he did 


ATAVAR 


167 


remember Javary being there, though there was 
haziness as to the time he had come in. To this 
extent it checked up with the butler’s story. He 
had been there until early dawn. 

Later, Craig managed to have a word with the 
proprietor. The haziness as to Javary’s entrance 
was not cleared, but it was learned that Carfax was 
among the best-known patrons of the Cave. As to 
Carfax, it did not appear that he had been there at 
all, the night of the murder. Nor was he there this 
night. Otherwise, it seemed he rarely missed an 
evening. Under her breath Fay admitted to me that 
she had been there with him, often, and I fancied 
she was a bit disappointed at not seeing him to¬ 
night. The type of Fay is not a bit backward in 
exhibiting her popularity to make more certain the 
hold of a lover. 

Gayly the conversation drifted between dances 
and numbers on the program. Natahe was the gay 
and perky girl that this atmosphere called for, the 
girl who beheves she can defy all conventions of the 
past, a salamander, one whom fire cannot burn, a 
girl with but one life to live, who knows how she 
wants to live it, and proposes to live it so. 

It brought about a bantering argument over the 
relations of men and women, women who rule men 
through sex and women who rule men through the 
sesthetic, the emotions. 

“Which am I?” asked Natalie, making woman’s 
characteristic application to self. 

“Different from either,” came Craig’s ready 
answer, to which he added, “I grant there are, as 
Walter says, women who rule men through sex, and 


168 ATAVAR 

women who rule through the aesthetic, the emotions 
— sex!’' 

Natalie was quick to catch his meaning. In that 
atmosphere, on the very verge of Greenwich Village, 
it was only a moment and we were into the vastness 
of psychoanalysis again. 

“Then, you think all of us are—alike?” she asked, 
leaning eagerly toward him. 

“On the contrary. All of you are diverse. There 
are some things, though, in which men and women, 
all of the human species, are alike. It depends. 
For instance, in one characteristic I divide all peo¬ 
ple, men and women, into two classes. Close your 
eyes. If I say ^cow,’ do you see a cow? Mr. Jame¬ 
son here does not. He thinks of the cow in the 
abstract.” 

Natalie’s eyes were closed. “Oh yes! I see him 
. . . charging down at me . . . horns lowered . . . 
snorting ... in a cloud of dust . . .” 

“No—no. You see a bull. Never mind that, now. 
But you are of the one type that sees pictures, the 
concrete type. Walter is of the abstract. It’s a 
mighty valuable possession, the concrete, to the 
artist, the creator, most valuable on the stage, and 
in motion pictures—this visuahzing type.” 

“See pictures? Oh, I see them so vividly when I 
close my eyes and let my thoughts run freely,” 
exclaimed Natalie, with animation. 

“Most vividly when you dream,” led Craig. 

“Yes,” she agreed, unconsciously being led. “For 
instance, you remember once I told you of my 
dreams of the days before Stonehenge ... of my¬ 
self as Gel, dancing in the moon shadows, carried off 


ATAVAR 169 

by the brute of the paleolithic, rescued by Dag, the 
handsome troglodyte, the cave man. . . ^ 

She caught herself. Her wonderful intuition 
made her realize that this conversation was of 
Kennedy’s own making, for a purpose. 

Kennedy did not appear to notice it; at least if 
he did notice it, he did not betray it, as he toyed 
with his cigarette in the holder. 

^^Dancing in the moon shadows,” he repeated, 
then looked out over the dancers on the dance floor 
and at the tops of the tables which they had left. 
‘^Dancing in the moonshine!^’ he smiled. ‘‘WeU, to 
pursue your beloved psychoanalysis a bit further, 
dancing is the counterpoise of libido.” 

Natalie did not appear to follow him, or, if she 
did, did not betray it. ‘The dance,” he continued, 
“well, one of the writers describes it as ‘the spon¬ 
taneous activity of the muscles under the influence 
of some strong emotion, such as social joy or reli¬ 
gious exultation.’ The hootchy-kootchy—to the 
whirling dervish; David dances before the Ark; 
Salome dances before Herod with the head of John 
the Baptist. . . . 

“In fact, I think that this idea goes a long way to 
explain the dance craze not only of to-day, but all 
down the ages. We dance for the same reason the 
savage Indian danced, for the reason of all ceremo¬ 
nial dancers—from the whirling dervish to the latest 
steps of the present-day ballroom. We dance pri¬ 
marily as an outlet to our emotions, as a ‘safety 
valve’ for our very animal hidden natures. And by 
the same token we admire dancing and dancers inor¬ 
dinately because they express an instinct inherent in 
all of us.” 


170 


ATAVAR 


Natalie was following Kennedy, wide eyed, but 
silent. He saw it and determined to lead her on, as 
he had all along intended. 

‘^Dancing,” he continued, “is in fact the universal 
human expression by movements of the limbs and 
body of a sense of rhythm which is implanted among 
the primitive instincts of the animal world. The 
rhythmic principle of motion extends throughout 
the universe, governing the lapse of waves, the flow 
of tides, the reverberations of light and sound, the 
movements of the celestial bodies. And in the 
human organism it manifests itself in the automatic 
pulses and flexions of the blood and tissues. . . . 

“Dancing is merely the voluntary application of 
the rhythmic principle, when excitement has in¬ 
duced an abnormally rapid oxidation of brain tissue, 
to the physical exertion by which the overcharged 
brain is reheved. . . . 

“This is primitive dancing and it embraces all 
movements of the limbs and body expressive of joy 
or grief, all pantomimic representations of incidents 
in the lives of the dancers, all performances in 
which the movements of the body are employed to 
excite the passions—love and hatred, pity or revenge 
—or to arouse the warlike instincts, and all ceremo¬ 
nies in which such movements express homage or 
worship or are used in religious exercises.^’ 

“Well,’' remarked Natalie, slowly, “is there any¬ 
thing wrong in any of that?” 

“But who said there was anything wrong?” re¬ 
turned Craig. “Is there anything wrong in saying 
that in the highest sense the dance is the prose 
gesture? Is there anything wrong in giving a thing 


ATAVAR 


171 


its true value—understanding it—its origin? All I 
say is that the origin of the dance is in sex emotion/’ 

Natalie was quick to retort. ‘^How about reli¬ 
gious dances?” she parried. ^‘You mentioned them, 
too.” 

^^Sex emotion and religious emotion are very inti¬ 
mately alhed.” 

She was casting about for a new point of attack. 
‘^How about the savage war dances?” Her tone was 
triumphant. 

‘Welled in the same spring—emotion . . . war 
emotions, religious emotions, sex emotions. . . .” 

“Dancers are like athletes” she came back. “How 
can they feel sex emotions in games:—in dances?” 

“Athletes need watching unless in training—and 
when in training.” 

“Ah, but, Mr. Kennedy, was it sex that made me 
as a little girl, perhaps eight years old, chmb to the 
very top of a huge pile of stone at night and dance? 
Father was building a large stone barn and these 
stones were piled helter skelter in a big open space. 
I scrambled up them and danced, watching my little 
shadow flitting about gayly. The more graceful my 
shadow, the more delighted I was. It was grace of 
movement I was striving for ... no sex ideas at 
that age!” Natalie regarded Craig contentiously. 

“Are there no instincts, intuitions? Is only that 
sex which you know as sex? . . . Why, your very 
reactions demonstrate that I have struck a complex 
—in you!” 

Natalie colored, radiated more contention. 

“When you talk, as you did the other day, of your 
urge—^your egO'—^you have an urge, all right . . . 
but you mistake the sex urge!” 


172 


ATAVAR 


^^But I don’t!” she reiterated. dance because 
of an urge—an urge of my ancestors—my grand¬ 
mother was a great, famous dancer in her day.” She 
paused. “So I dance—in the day ... in the night 
they reach out with the long arm of dreams from the 
past . . . and compel me!” 

Natalie paused, regarding Craig almost in fear. 
She felt and she knew that she was in the presence 
of forces greater than her own small self. And she 
was alarmed at Kennedy for making her think 
frankly of them. Feeling was not half so alarming 
as the analysis of that feeling. 

“You see,” resumed Kennedy, in a low, even 
voice, “Natalie, you have been thinking your ances¬ 
tors! Hence your—psychosis. ... You told me 
once that at first you had no visions or memories of 
the past in which this early self of yours lived— 
that the dreams came later. You have been think¬ 
ing your ancestors.” 

“Perhaps. . . . But back of that, I think, is the 
very real influence of the ancestors—just the same! 
I must sing—I must dance—I must act—to live! 
It is uncontrollable—to dance! It is I . . . The 
theater is . . . my . . . self!” 

I was fascinated. What was it swayed her by 
these strange artistic compulsions? Natalie knew 
least of all. She talked of urges, felt urges. But 
why? 

It was too deep for Fay. But Fay saw the prac¬ 
tical side of it, perhaps feared it. “Then,” she 
demanded, “do you think that dancing should be 
censored—^regulated—also, by these—killjoys?” 

Kennedy smiled. “The first and great American 
commandment nowadays is: Thou shalt mind thy 


ATAVAR 


173 


neighbor’s business to the neglect of thine own.’ 
And the second is like unto it, ‘Cherish the unfit, 
and be ye ruled for them.’ No doubt that will come 
next. Fay. This is a government of the standard¬ 
ized, for the standardized, by the standardized. . . . 
This is my belief, of the dance. However, if you can 
show otherwise, I shall be glad to be shown.” 

“You mean, then,” laughed Natalie, lightly, “Na¬ 
ture deceives us, too. What seem childish prompt¬ 
ings for play are really instinctive sex urges. Well, 
then we can’t be scolded in the future if we are 
insincere. Mother Nature teaches us insincerity 
first. I’ll not feel so worried, now!” 

Fay joined in. “Now I know where the men get 
all their deceit! The way they kid us poor girls is 
a shame. They get it, instinctively, too—from 
Nature!” 

Kennedy did not seem to mind the turn of the 
conversation. “Yes,” he appeared to agree, “you 
know a man lies to a woman—always. If he takes 
hold of her hand, he says, T love you!’ If he puts 
his arms around her, he says, T love you!’ If he 
kisses her, he says, T love you!’ If he wants to go 
further with her, he says, T love you!’ When it 
comes to the ladies, all men are liars ... I sup¬ 
pose.” 

“But,” murmured Natalie, a far-off look in her 
eyes, “what is love, then?” 

“Perhaps there’s a sort of self-hypnotism about 
it,” returned Craig slowly. “As if one knew he was 
deceiving when he took hold of your hand.” Craig 
had laid his hand on Natalie’s. She did not with¬ 
draw it, but suffered it to remain in his. “And then 
found that it was he who was deceiving himself— 


174 ATAVAR 

that his better nature was better than he had ever 
himself known 

I had been watching Natalie closely, I might 
almost say jealously. It was more than fancy on 
my part that she was quite evidently thrilled when 
Craig took her hand. In fact, I wondered, I feared. 
She wanted him to say, “I love you!” 

Fay glanced at me with a smile. ‘Walter, if I 
should lean over and kiss you suddenly, would you 
start to analyze me and make up a philosophy of 
love over it?” 

“Try it—and see,” I dared with a grin. 

“You’ll hardly accuse me of being a cave girl—or 
that other awful thing Mr. Kennedy calls some 
people^—a throw-back? . . . Well, look who’s com¬ 
ing over toward us!” 

We turned and saw Gordon Gaunt, immaculately 
dressed, solemn or sullen of face, it was difficult to 
determine which, making his way among the tables 
in our direction. As he joined us he seemed 
oblivious to all but Natalie. 

“I thought you said you had an important en¬ 
gagement, Natalie,” he said, reproachfully. 

“I had an important engagement with Mr. Ken¬ 
nedy,” she reiterated, “and it has finally landed us 
here at the Cave.” 

“I see.” He directed a cool bow at Craig and the 
rest of us. Then, without asking permission, he 
calmly took another chair and sat down between 
Natalie and me. “Well, this sort of engagement 
doesn’t preclude my presence, now, I hope,” he 
added, with a trace of a persuasive smile toward 
Natalie. 

Watching Natalie, I knew she thought well of 


ATAVAR 175 

him, but I saw also that she was considerably an¬ 
noyed at his matter-of-fact possession of her. 

Craig was amused at the turn of affairs, but was 
equally determined that Gaunt was to accomplish 
nothing that would lessen Natalie’s respect for him¬ 
self. I told myself that he wanted to study that 
young lady in the next few days and that the most 
successful way to do it was by encouraging her 
friendliness and interest in himself. 

Gaunt was outwardly polite, but when he thought 
no one was looking, rapier glances flashed from his 
eyes in Craig’s direction. ‘^Natalie,” he said at last, 
^^I’m still thinking of the way you put me off to¬ 
night.” 

don’t see why you should think of it. Mr. 
Kennedy asked me first—and I gave you to-morrow 
night. You wouldn’t like it if anyone interrupted 
your party as you are doing to-night.” 

'^Am I interrupting, Kennedy?” Gaunt asked, 
with a thinly veiled trace of sarcasm. 

^^No . . . not interrupting. Any time Miss Lisle 
and I care to go, we may, I think. You may stay, 
if you wish, so far as I am concerned.” Craig’s tone 
and manner suggested that it was a matter of per¬ 
fect indifference to him what Gaunt did. 

I saw Gaunt swallow hard. Natalie reached over 
and touched his arm. ‘'Gordon, be nice, here. If 
you’re not I cannot see you to-morrow night . . . 
and I want to.” 

Natalie’s tact had reassured him. He seemed to 
swallow his grouch. A moment later, he said in a 
more engaging tone, “Are you still thinking about 
your trip, Natalie?” 


176 A T A V A R 

‘What trip?” interrupted Fay, always on the 
alert if there was anything being planned. 

Natalie looked around at the Cave and the wait¬ 
ers. “I’m going to be a pirate, too. Just as some of 
my ancestors were. Why not?” 

“A pirate?” repeated Craig, catching my own look 
of recollection of our recent trip in the late winter 
to the Bahamas and a quarrel overheard on our last 
night there between Roger Gerard and Hawtrey 
over a trip to some old pirate cave, with Natalie. 

“Surely,” smiled Gaunt. “And I’m going to lend 
her my new yacht—to sail the Spanish Main.” 

“You can laugh, Gordon, tease me all you want,” 
Natalie pouted, “but the story is two hundred and 
fifty years old, in the family, about the old governor 
who was a pirate on the side. Twenty of his men 
turned traitor, seized the best part of the loot, and 
fled in a Spanish galleon. My ancestor gave chase 
and somewhere not far from the headquarters in the 
Bahamas he sent a shot through the stern of the 
galleon that set her afire. They tried to beach the 
vessel on a small island, but there was an explosion 
of the powder magazine and she sank with all 
hands. I think I know the island—and I’ll hold you 
to that promise, Gordon. You’ve all heard him say 
that I could have his yacht for my expedition. 
Gordon, you’ll have to make good on that.” 

“Let me be the slcipper, Natalie, and I’ll finance 
the whole thing and let you take all the profits.” 
There was a touch of earnestness about his words 
that showed more than banter back of them. 

Natalie shook her head. “I’ll take your yacht, 
Gordon, but I’m going on my own when I make that 
trip. So you were not aware, Mr. Kennedy, that I 


ATAVAR 


177 


had an ancestor who was a buccaneer? I suppose 
that is one reason why I am drawn to this place. 
Somewhere there is a map that has been in the 
family for many years that shows the location of 
the treasure. But no one could ever get it because 
deep sea-diving hadn’t been brought to the point 
that it is now. But I know that island and there’s a 
big treasure there.” Natalie’s eyes opened round 
and she spread her hands out wide to indicate the 
size of the treasure. ^^I’m going to get it, too!” 

^^Ooh!”' Fay put in, ^‘Let me in on that, too, 
Natalie. That idea just suits me.” Fay clapped her 
hands gleefully. ‘^A pirate bold. I’ll be, tra-la, tra- 
la, tra-la-a!” 

^Xove pirate—^yes,” I put in. 

It was Rowing late—or rather early—and, much 
to Gaunt’s discomfiture, Craig put into practice his 
remark earlier in the evening. Craig and I bore off 
Natalie and Fay, left Fay at the Gamorrah, and 
finally parted with Natalie at her apartment. Then 
Craig directed the cab up the Drive to our own 
home. 

''Evenings like this in places like that Cave,” I 
said, as we bowled along, "always make me think. 
I’ve got something on my mind.” 

Kennedy nodded abstractedly. 

"Not so long ago, Craig,” I pursued, "I recall you 
said that the human race is incurably progressive. 
But I also recall, some time before that, you said 
that the present generation is worse than the last 
as the next will be worse than this, that people are 
being crushed by the weight of civilization. Now, 
how do you reconcile that? It worries me—after all 
we see and hear.” 


178 


ATAVAR 


Craig smiled absently. With an effort he seemed 
to get his mind on the query. ^^It may seem at first 
sight contradictory/^ he answered. '^As a matter of 
fact, the statements are really supplementary. We 
have tried religion, so called, and it has not made 
any conspicuous success. We are trying legislation 
now. 'Be ye ruled for and by the weak.^ Any ex¬ 
tended attempt to let the weak, the unfit rule will 
break any race. Science and true education of the 
individual are the best hope of the race, If they 
fail, then the race will invent something else. For, 
as Voltaire said, if there had not been a God in 
religion man would have been forced to invent one. 
Just now, religion and legislation, to my way of 
thinking, are breaking down—broken down. Each 
generation under them shows the seeds of growing 
weakness. But there is an inherent strength in 
humanity. True science and true religion have 
never had a chance; they have never been tried. 
And above all we must start not on the mass but on 
the individual.^' 

Kennedy said nothing further. His mind was on 
another subject now, I knew. 

"Natalie has taught me something, to-night," he 
remarked, absently. "It's not her psychoanalysis of 
herself and the dance, either. It is something deeper 
—fundamental." 

Unlike Kennedy, I do not think easily in gen¬ 
eralities. I made at once a particular application of 
it. Flashed through my mind his words of the day 
before, "If I could understand that girl—I could 
understand this crime!" 


Part in 







CHAPTER X 

MONEY POWER 

“You made no reference to the Hawtrey will last 
night with Natalie/' I suddenly recollected, the 
following morning. 

“I hope you didn't expect me to talk about that, 
with Fay around—or later with Gaunt," parried 
Kennedy. 

“N-no." 

“Well, I did bring it up, on the way down to the 
Pirates' Cave with her, alone. She professes to be 
as much amazed at it as we were when we heard it." 

“Of course she'd say that." 

Kennedy nodded. “That may be quite impor¬ 
tant. But there are other things on my mind after 
last night, equally important. You have told me 
that they have a most wonderful biographical de¬ 
partment downtown on the Star, I believe?" 

I confirmed it and, though I did not fully under¬ 
stand, Kennedy decided to accompany me downtown 
and prepared to spend the morning in what, in old 
newspaper lingo, we used to call the “Morgue" of 
the Star, Later he went uptown and spent a couple 
of hours in the Public Library. 

181 


182 


ATAVAR 


It was not until we met at luncheon uptown that 
I realized what had''been his purpose. Kennedy 
had been delving into the past of Natalie Lisle— 
not the paleolithic past or the pirate past, but the 
past of the family, two generations ago. 

By the time he finished, Kennedy had almost as 
much information about the Lisles as Natalie her¬ 
self; on some subjects, perhaps, more. 

^‘Her grandfather was Douglas Lisle,^^ began Ken¬ 
nedy, briefly, ^^father of John Lisle, who was Nata¬ 
lie's father. Perhaps you recall, Douglas Lisle was 
president of the old Continental Railroad Company 
in eighteen sixty-seven." 

‘‘Yes," I recollected, “the old railroad pirate! 
Those were the good old days before interstate 
commissions and blue-sky laws." 

“The days when the university was downtown not 
far from Roger Gerard's old house. Hugh Gerard, 
father of old Doctor Gerard and grandfather of 
Roger, was an artist, poet, author, dramatist of 
some note, then. The Lisles and the Gerards lived 
in Washington Square in the city, in those days. 
Douglas Lisle and Hugh Gerard were friends; they 
had gone to college together and to war together, 
but when they were mustered out their ways began 
rapidly to diverge, as rapidly as their temperaments. 
Lisle vras the financier; Gerard the dreamer." 

I began to appreciate Kennedy's purpose, now, in 
his researches. He had actually been seeking clews 
to Natalie's character and Roger's character, back 
in the days of 1867, by delving into the lives of 
Douglas Lisle, Natalie's ancestor, and Hugh Gerard, 
the progenitor of Roger. 

“It seems, as I discover," continued Craig, “that 


ATAVAR 183 

the two actually broke in rivalry over Corinne Car- 
fax, the actress, the dancer/^ 

“Corinne Carfax—grandmother of Natalie,’^ I 
supplied, thinking of snatches of conversation of 
the past day or two. 

“Exactly. Corinne Carfax came from a fine old 
Southern family, like so many after the war, in 
reduced circumstances. Corinne had been forced to 
go on the stage—once as a ballet dancer. In one of 
the gossipy old papers I found out that they met at 
a dance—not, of course, a society affair, but a dance 
of the greenroom bohemia of that day, a dance 
where it was the lancers, the polka, the schottische, 
the waltz, perhaps the quadrille, or the extremely 
elaborate cotillon. Douglas Lisle and Hugh Gerard 
both met Corinne—and this was quite another mat¬ 
ter from the ballet. They both fell in love with her; 
there was an immediate clash over her. A couple 
of generations before that, there would have been a 
duel between the life-long friends. There was a 
duel, all right. But it was under different rules and 
with modem weapons. 

“Hugh Gerard, being somewhat more than ordi¬ 
nary as a playwright and musician, wrote the White 
Crook' for her. I suppose you've heard of that. I 
had. But I didn't know who wrote it. Well, Doug¬ 
las Lisle, already a wealthy banker and broker, and 
getting richer every day with the transcontinental 
boom after the war, had to resort to other methods 
to win her. Do you know, that man even doubled 
his fortune in the panic of seventy-three later? He 
was another of those fellows. When he saw a thing 
he wanted, he took it. He schemed to take her 
away from Hugh Gerard—for all the world like 


184 ATAVAR 

Gaunt and Hawtrey with Natalie and Roger, nowa¬ 
days. 

^^Do you know what he did? It was rather clever. 
Financial troglodyte stuff. They were just building 
the old Union Theater in 1867, that one down the 
street from the present Pirates’ Cave. It was to be 
opened with Corinne Carfax in the White Crook’; 
had been biUed all over town, all over the country, 
this wonderful new theater, uptown, on the former 
site of the old Hendrick Inn. Douglas Lisle bought 
it, uncompleted. Then there was a conference, or 
something. And he finished it lavishly for Corinne 
Carfax to make her appearance in the ^White Crook.’ 

“Do you see the dilemma he had that poor girl 
in? She loved Hugh Gerard. But what had he to 
offer? More plays? Lisle owned the theater. He 
had a million. A million was like a billion, now. 
He could buy her more plays in a year than Hugh 
could write in a lifetime. Besides . . . but I’m 
running ahead of my story. 

“As star in the comic opera, the White Crook,’ 
Corinne Carfax made a sweeping success. So, you 
see, Douglas Lisle took Corinne Carfax away from 
the artist Gerard by sheer force of money, luxury, 
power, social position. Later, when his first wife 
died. Lisle married her. That’s the part of the story 
I was working up toward.” 

I nodded, fascinated. “To-day,” I remarked, “the 
old Union Theater is like a decayed man-about- 
town. It has gone through comic opera, then vau¬ 
deville and burlesque—finally motion pictures. 
Now I recollect. It has been closed for several 
years but only a few months ago it was reopened 


ATAVAR 185 

as a cheap vaudeville and motion picture house, a 
glorified neighborhood house.’^ 

“That’s it. I suppose you know that no green¬ 
room in the old-time theaters in New York was sur¬ 
rounded with more romance than that at the old 
Union Theater. To-day, with its cheap vaudeville 
and third-run pictures, it is one of the few green¬ 
rooms still in existence. But in the old days it was 
the lounging place for all manner of artists, authors, 
musicians, and stage-door Johnnies of the times.” 

I could picture the silk hats and tight breeches of 
the day, and their furore over tights such as any 
bathing beach of to-day would put to the blush of 
shame. 

“Douglas Lisle,” continued Kennedy, “built big 
private boxes for himself and his partner, Crowell. 
For example, from his box there was a private pass¬ 
ageway to the street.” 

“Ah! Private passageways!” The histrionic 
rather than the historic appealed to me. “Were 
there any others?” 

“Yes. I told you Douglas Lisle was married. 
From the old theater there was a secret stairway, 
according to gossip, that led to a house built in the 
middle of the block for Corinne Carfax—from her 
dressing room in the theater, to that old house that 
we were in, the Pirates’ Cave!” 

I was all ears and eyes. It wa^ such a story as 
the Star delighted in. 

“But it was walled up years ago,” added Kennedy, 
as my face fell. “You see Lisle’s first wife died a 
year later, or so. But it’s just that sort of thing 
that interests you, that interests me, though per¬ 
haps for another reason. I read of a plan mentioned 


186 


ATAVAR 


in an article in the old Recorder, a plan of the thea¬ 
ter, mentioned as though there was more than had 
ever yet become known. Now, it seems to me that 
somewhere, most likely in the papers of the Lisle 
family, must be a copy of that plan. I would very 
much like to see it.^' 

“Do you suppose Natalie might have it?’^ 

Kennedy shrugged. “I doubt it. But the attor¬ 
ney for the estate might. I called up Natalie just 
before I met you here. She was willing. She is to 
meet us at two at the attorney’s and will let us look 
through the old Lisle papers.” 

“Mighty decent of her,” I commented, still with¬ 
out the vaguest idea of what Kennedy might hope 
to find. “By the way, who is the attorney for the 
Lisle estate?” 

“Justus James, old Justus James.” 

“What? Hawtrey’s lawyer?” 

“Yes. Also counsel for the Export & Import 
National Bank, of which Gaunt is vice-president 
and really guiding mind.” 

“Well! This is a small world, after aU.” 

Promptly we met Natalie at the attorney’s office. 
Justus James was a pecuhar old man, well pre¬ 
served, with a head like an egg and a shock of 
shaggy whitish gray hair, like a wolf, bushy eye¬ 
brows, keen ferret eyes, a voice that was quiet, 
almost hesitating. I knew of him. He had been 
counsel for too many old and wealthy families and 
estates and business interests to remain quite un¬ 
known. Once in a dispute a very prominent public 
man had accused Justus James of speaking, in his 
quiet tones, “weasel words.” 

However, I found nothing whatever to criticize or 


ATAVAR 


187 


take exception to in his attitude toward either 
Natalie or ourselves. He seemed quite wiUing to go 
to any length to drag out the huge old sheet-iron 
document boxes labeled ^Xisle Estate.^’ 

Kennedy ran through bundles of papers and let¬ 
ters, yellow and crumbling with age, of a day long 
before the typewriter, when all correspondence and 
record was in handwriting. Some of the records 
might have rewritten financial history of the day. 
But that did not seem to interest him now. 

It was some time later when, with now and then 
a soft word of comment from Justus James, who 
watched everything with a contemplative smile from 
under his shaggy brows, Craig came at last upon a 
much soiled and creased architect’s drawing, the 
plans of the old Union Theater. He scanned them 
carefully, even resorting to his little pocket lens. 

^There’s an erasure here, an alteration in the 
drawing,” he remarked, as with a dry pen he traced 
along it. '^On the back wall of the star’s dressing 
room—where her clothes press was. . . . That must 
be the end of the passage, if there was one, from her 
house down the street, now the Pirates’ Cave.” 

Natahe was naturally much excited. It was as 
though her intuition seemed to tell her that there 
was something of vast importance to herself in this 
breath from the past. 

^'There are the floor plans of the offices your 
grandfather built in the rear and over the theater 
sides,” added Craig as he rolled them up. ^^Now, 
here’s what looks like a plan of the house down the 
street, the Pirates’ Cave. , . . And here is another 
plan of what seems to be a suite of rooms, a draw¬ 
ing-room or hbrary, a bedroom, with an alcove, and 


188 


ATAVAR 


a bath. Where was that? It couldn^t have been in 
that house. According to the scale the house would 
not have been wide enough by half. H’m! That’s 
an alcove,” he traced with the dry pen. ^Those 
were the days when they always had to set a bed in 
an alcove. Look at this. Some one has drawn a 
skull and crossbones . . . here.” 

“Yes! Skull and crossbones 1” Natalie’s eyes 
were wide. 

“Do you know what they mean?” asked Kennedy, 
searching her face, with its excited flush. 

“No . . . not exactly . . . unless ... You see, 
there was a tradition in the family—I heard it when 
I was a very little girl—that somewhere there was 
an old carved walnut bed—the Skull and Crossbones 
bed, they used to call it. It was old, ages old. It 
used to belong to my ancestor, my mother’s an¬ 
cestor, the old governor, you know, the one I spoke 
of, in the Bahamas, Governor Carfax.” 

“Why,” put in Kennedy, “that would be two 
hundred and fifty years old, or more.” 

“Oh, yes,” Natalie nodded. “Of course. But it 
has something to do with what I was telling you last 
night. Yes, the old Skull and Crossbones bed, and 
the Carfax treasure trove. . . . But what good is 
this? What does it all mean?” 

Kennedy looked over the ground plan again, then 
deliberately rolled it up, rolled them all up. 

“With your permission, Natalie, I would very 
much like to study these. May I?” 

“Why—certainly!” There was absolute confi¬ 
dence in Craig in the tone. Natalie would have 
trusted him with anything. Justus James was 
watching silently but keenly. He did not interpose 


A T A V A R 189 

any objection to what his fair young client pro¬ 
posed to do with her property. 

We left the office of Justus James about the 
middle of the afternoon. Kennedy, who can never 
keep away long from a telephone when he is on a 
case, called Deputy Commissioner O'Connor’s office 
and asked for Dunphy. He rejoined us, quite 
excited. 

''It’s very good I called up,” he imparted. "Boyle 
and Dunphy have got together. They’re waiting 
for us. They’ve been getting nervous. They want 
some action; something to save their faces with the 
public. So they’ve arranged to raid the Pirates’ 
Cave. Boyle says he expects to make a big haul of 
bootleg hootch, at least. I think we’d better be 
among those present.” He paused a moment, re¬ 
garding Natalie. I thought he was considering an 
excuse to keep her out of it. "Would you like to see 
a real revenue raid, Natalie?” 

"Oh, jolly!” she exclaimed. "But must it be the 
Pirates’ Cave—my grandmother’s?” She seemed 
dehghted at the prospect of excitement, but, curi¬ 
ously enough, not at the selection of the place, 
although it had long since passed from the posses¬ 
sion, if not the annals, of the Lisle family. 

"I’m afraid we can’t hold it back,” demurred 
Craig. "But at least we may take advantage if it.” 

We met Boyle and Dunphy on Broadway, pre¬ 
paratory to the late afternoon swoop down over on 
Eighth Avenue. 

"Boyle tells me,” whispered Dunphy aside to me, 
a bit put out at Kennedy’s appearance with a 
"skirt,” as he elegantly muttered it, "that this here 
Hawtrey financed his big rum-running deals 


190 


ATAVAR 


through the Export & Import Bank. The Export & 
Import Bank is this Gaunt’s bank, carries all his oil 
paper and all that; he’s the active vice-president. 
I don’t make it.” 

Nor did I. Kennedy said nothing at first, then 
turned to Boyle and asked about Javary. 

“I cornered him this morning. Didn’t get much. 
Except that he said Carfax realizes he is under sus¬ 
picion, has seen a lawyer, and threatens, if he is 
arrested, to sue out a writ of habeas corpus and 
compel the prosecution to disclose all it has. The 
old stunt, you know.” He said it back of his hand 
so Natalie could not hear. 

Craig turned to Natalie. “Just what relation is 
Norman Carfax to you, Natalie?” he asked. 

“A cousin ... I don’t know how distant. May¬ 
be you can count it up. His grandfather was the 
youngest brother of my grandmother. All the rest 
of the boys were killed in the Confederate Army.” 

Kennedy counted it up. As for me, I could not 
for the life of me straighten out the relations of 
these people. Blood relationships might be distant. 
But personal relationships were close and hidden. 
I recalled Carfax in Gaunt’s box at the Opera the 
other night. Also I recalled what Carfax had told 
Javary, which had been overheard over the dicto¬ 
graph, that he could get all the money he wanted, in 
several places, for rum running. What was Gaunt 
in the rum running? Had he any relation to it? 
What had Norman Carfax meant when he talked 
about getting money from his “cousin” Natalie? 

One thing I had begun to see and that was Ken¬ 
nedy’s philosophy in this case. It was Natalie to¬ 
day; it had been Corinne day before yesterday. In 


ATAVAR 


191 


1867 there had been money pirates, wreckers; to¬ 
day there were profiteers. The game is the same— 
yesterday, to-day, forever. But the rules change. 

Eveiything was ready for the raid. Boyle gave 
the sigiial to his revenue men and Dunphy’s police 
to close in on the old house down the street from 
the old pnion Theater, now the Pirates^ Cave. 

Natalie had been covertly watching Boyle and 
Dunphy. ^^A new kind of Long John Silver—or 
Captain Hook,^^ she whispered to me, ^^tumed 
traitor and raiding the pirates! I suppose . . . I’m 
a sort of Peter Pan.” 

Yet Natalie was in her element. Heredity had 
made her susceptible to adventure, and now this 
often suppressed desire was being indulged, with 
responsible people, within the law, yet with all the 
gusto of excitement that might be in a less honor¬ 
able field. Her eyes were bright, her cheeks glowed, 
and it seemed almost as if the golden glints in her 
hair were more gleaming than ever. 

Boyle and Dunphy entered the Cave first with 
their men; Craig and I followed with Natalie. 
They knew 'the place well upon information already 
gathered by revenue officers, and Natalie had added 
what information she had heard about the former 
residence of her grandmother, so that we felt pretty 
sure of finding the cache of contraband liquor sus¬ 
pected by Boyle. 

The proprietor looked more crestfallen than ever 
when he saw who accompanied Boyle. Had not 
Natalie and her friends been his gayest patrons? 
To Craig he assumed an injured air, as if inquiring: 
^Wherein was I amiss? Did I not provide wine of 
unquestioned age, food for the epicure and enter- 


ATAVAR 


192 

tainment fit for the thousand and second night of 
Scheherezade? Woe is me, when they whom I try 
so hard to please show such base ingratitude 

With a shrug of the French shoulders he sank 
down into a chair and watched gloomily as Boyle 
and Dunphy poked at the flask pockets and rubbed 
the flanks of the few patrons just foregathering at 
that auspicious hour. There were three men with 
flasks, detained by the officers; the rest were per¬ 
mitted to leave. 

Natalie alternatively had my arm and Kennedy's 
each time Boyle discovered something more than 
one half of one per cent interesting. With unerring 
instinct Boyle and Dunphy ferreted out the hiding 
places. But nothing much was. discovered, not 
enough to give the Pirates’ Cave its well-known 
eclat. 

Dunphy pushed his fingers through his hair, 
rumpling it in perplexity. ^‘This ain’t right, Boyle! 
There ought to be enough here to swim in. Where 
is it? That little frog eater won’t tell. He don’t 
have to, if we can’t find it. What do you know 
about this joint, Kennedy?” 

Kennedy knew that Dunphy would never have 
appealed to him unless he felt he was at the end of 
his rope. ^Tt’s not exactly what I know; it’s a 
theory.” Craig took Natalie, and they led us into 
a little room on the first floor in the rear of the 
house. It had already been explored and they had 
looked out of the window to see a flight of steps that 
led from the door in the end of the house to a group 
of waste cans and ash barrels. Dunphy was not 
very much impressed as Kennedy pointed it out, 


ATAVAR 


193 


but Boyle was waiting with judgment suspended. 
^We’ll just move those cans and see what we see.” 

There had once evidently been a housing over the 
whole thing. Under the cans was a flagstone with 
an iron ring in it. Looking back up at the window 
beside the door, we had left before we came into the 
yard, w^e could see the proprietor volubly excited 
and gesticulating, protesting to one of the waiters. 
Craig smiled dryly. ‘T guess we’re right.” 

With Boyle he gave a yank at the iron ring. The 
stone slid rather easily, revealing a flight of stone 
steps down into a musty little underground tunnel. 
Natalie Was elated. Peering over the opening into 
the earthy darkness, she touched Craig’s arm. 
‘^Grandmother must have been romantic—hke I am. 
Men don’t build such things for ordinary personali¬ 
ties. I can see that dainty ancestor of mine, 
Corinne Carfax, with her hoopskirts and tiny feet, 
skipping along this tunnel to keep a tryst with her 
lover. Isn’t it thrilling? I wonder whether she ever 
felt the call of those in the past, as I do? How she 
must have thrilled as she flew along that dark pas¬ 
sage. . . . Did she feel it? I would never have been 
alone!” 

Natalie clutched Craig’s arm with a sort of fear, 
and she leaned closer from sheer fright. On her 
face was a half-wild, half-exultant expression. 
Through her were surging those tempestuous de¬ 
sires, those primeval promptings, that make a love 
so deep and enduring that it will give aU, endure 
all, but demands all, the love that is flouted in these 
commercial days of easy divorce and virtual trial 
marriage. 

“Natalie,” was all that Craig said, “hold tight. 


194 


ATAVAR 


WeVe going down these steps to see where they 
lead. Don^t stumble—and keep your head, little 
girl.’' 

I smiled to myself when Craig adjured her not to 
stumble. When I recalled her cavorting about the 
stage, her perilous climbing of roofs and rides on 
the stag’s back, I didn’t feel nervous about that 
flight of steps in the dark. 

With the aid of a flashlight we discerned a paved 
tunnel perhaps four feet wide and six feet high. It 
was constructed of stone and seemed yet in fairly 
good condition. But the important thing which we 
all saw about the same time was voiced by Natalie. 

^^Look! Look! Some one has been here—re¬ 
cently!” 

Bending over quickly she pointed with her slim 
white finger to the footprints of a man or men. 

^^That wasn’t Grandma Carfax! Three of her 
shoes would have fitted this!” She smiled up at 
Craig as she fitted her own slender foot in the im¬ 
print in the damp and moldy dirt. 

‘^Some place for rheumatism,” Dunphy growled. 
^^Get this rubbish dropped about in here, Boyle.” 

Straw casings off bottles of champagne, a few 
empty bottles, a couple still giving off the warm 
aroma of good Scotch, indicated plainly enough that 
the place was used. There were bits of labels and 
wrappings, corks, hastily tom or broken and 
dropped. 

The httle passageway grew damper and dimmer. 
Natalie held close to Craig. 

Suddenly Boyle, who had again taken the lead, 
came to a dead stop. ^'No further!” he called back. 


ATAVAR 195 

We pressed up to see what was the obstruction. ‘‘A 
brick wall is at this end.” 

Kennedy whanged it with an empty bottle. It 
rang with a metallic sound. He shook his head. 
‘^Metal sheathing—pressed—painted to resemble a 
brick waU. If we knew the secret we could get 
beyond. But I see nothing here to indicate it.” 

^^Let’s batter it down!” growled Boyle. 

Kennedy negatived. ^^No, I can make quicker 
progress by going to the theater itself Boyle—^right 
away!” 

We hurriedly retraced our steps, leaving Dunphy 
and one of his men. The Pirates’ Cave was very 
quiet now. It doesn’t take long for rumors of a raid 
to circulate among the patrons of a place. No one 
was coming; it was deadly dull, even for those who 
had been detailed to watch the place. 

So far we had found only the remains of an old 
outside stairway to the yard from the first floor 
rear and an underground corridor evidently built by 
Douglas Lisle for Corinne Carfax. What was more 
important was that it was used. We lost no time in 
following Kennedy’s lead. 

As we entered the Union Theater and made our 
way to the old dressing room that had once belonged 
to Corinne Carfax and was now nothing but a dis¬ 
carded ^^prop” room, I could see Natahe’s response 
to the romance of the thing. 

Here Corinne Carfax had tripped as lightly as 
Natalie the night before at the American Opera. 
They were different girls, yet each was the same in 
spirit, in beauty, in grace. 

Kennedy felt it. only hope fate crushes out 
the dangers and delusions that may dim your vision 


196 


ATAVAR 


of perfect happiness of love realized, Natalie, as it 
did for your beautiful grandmother years ago!^^ 

The girl looked at him, startled, as he murmured 
it in her ear, colored, held her eyes unseeing for a 
few seconds. 

Craig was studying the architect's plan of the 
theater and Natalie was leaning close to him, also 
absorbed in it. Suddenly, with a quick spring, she 
was at the side of the dressing room where had once 
been a clothes press. That must be next the bogus 
brick wall that had obstructed our way into the 
theater from the other side. 

The walls were paneled with wood and it seemed 
as if there was nothing to the uninitiated to indicate 
where any button or secret spring might be con¬ 
cealed which would open the way. 

Natalie was running her fingers deftly all over the 
surface of the wood, with no result. She drew back, 
as Kennedy watched her, and stamped with vexa¬ 
tion. ‘T think my grandmother has put something 
over on me!’^ 

Suddenly the partition slid back in a groove, clev¬ 
erly constructed and concealed in the wall. Nata¬ 
lie’s vexation had been the means of discovering the 
secret. Her little foot had struck a secret lever in 
the fioor of the dressing room. 

'Tt’s all plain enough now,” commented Craig, 
^^how they got their hootch in. No wonder they 
fooled you so long. It was easy. Anything could 
have been dumped out on the street beside this 
theater and no detective would be there even to 
think it was booze.” 

''No one but you, Craig,” laughed Natalie, 
nervously. 


ATAVAR 


197 


She kept so close to Craig, watched, absorbed 
everything he did, heard everything he said. I won¬ 
dered finally whether this interest in him was 
feigned or an excuse to keep in touch with the 
brains of the organization hunting Hawtrey’s mur¬ 
derer. Did she want to know what was going on in 
the case, either to help her own position or for the 
relief of some one else in whom she was intensely 
interested? 

We called. Dunphy answered at the other end. 
We looked out in the passageway, under the two 
back yards, down the street to the present Cave. 

“So far, so good.’^ , Boyle was trying hard to 
reason it out. “We know a lot more. But whereas 
the hootch He thought a moment. “What other 
secret, perhaps subterranean passages, might there 
be under this old theater, to the side street, any¬ 
where?'' 

Kennedy led the way back along a corridor. 
There, disused, but not concealed, we found a door 
that opened out into the business part of the old 
Union. 

Boyle looked inquiringly. “I don't suppose you 
know," returned Craig, “but in the back and along 
the street side there used to be, there are still, 
several suites of ofiices." 

We looked about. They were now rented to 
cheap real-estate companies and other promoters of 
small ventures for the people in the neighborhood. 
As a business section that part of town had 
cheapened. 

Before one door Craig stopped. On it was still 
carved the lettering, “C. R. R." 

“You know," he continued, as he fumbled at the 


198 


ATAVAR 


old lock, “this was the suite that was built by old 
Douglas Lisle for himself—the offices of his Con¬ 
tinental Railroad Company/^ 

Natalie watched breathlessly. The lock was anti¬ 
quated, heavy, but sprung. Craig finally forced it. 

We entered. Inside we could see that the offices 
had been renovated since the days of Douglas Lisle, 
renovated and again grown old. This suite was 
apparently empty. Yet there were unmistakable 
traces here of recent occupation of some one—not 
workmen, either. 

Over the huge fireplace, between the windows, 
was built in a great map of the Continental Railroad 
system. 

Craig unfolded the architect’s drawing, and after 
studying it a moment, went over to the fireplace, 
lifted out the huge map and stood it in the comer. 

Back of the map was now discovered a secret 
compartment over the fireplace. It was empty, had 
been cleaned out. It did not need two glances to see 
that this had been made use of as a sort of cellarette 
on a large scale. But why had it been cleared out? 

Without a word, Craig strode over to a huge pier 
glass that reached from the floor to the high ceiling. 
He stood before it a moment, then selected two 
knobs, one on either side, in the ornamentation of 
the walnut woodwork. 

I expected him to press them or twist them. He 
did something more obvious. Bracing himself, away 
from them, he pulled with both hands. I jumped 
forward to steady or catch the big mirror. The 
great pier glass moved forward, as if suspended. It 
was on a concealed track. 

There was a secret stairway from old Lisle’s office 


ATAVAR 199 

down into the very depths of the earth under the 
theater! 

We made our cautious way down the stairs, 
breathless among the echoes. Underneath the old 
greenroom, in the darkness, was what was really a 
grotto. 

Craig flashed his light about. We could see, on 
the other side from the stairs down which we had 
come, another secret entrance in the massive 
masonry foundation of the old theater probably 
from the street. 

It was damp, cold, eerie, uncanny. As the light 
cast a wavering finger, there was disclosed what 
seemed to be a suite of rooms—a library of a gen¬ 
eration ago, a bedroom, a dismantled old bath. 

Here and there were the moldy remains of fur¬ 
nishings, long out of use. The air was musty. 
There had once been a crude ventilating system, 
but it was now plugged up. 

Natalie moved about the grotto, eagerly scanning 
everything in the secret apartment in the theater 
which her grandfather had built for Corinne Car- 
fax. On one of the bookshelves were some dust- 
covered volumes. She picked up one and read the 
name, ^^Corinne Carfax,^^ written on the fly leaf. It 
was a history of the dance. On the margin of almost 
every page little items were scribbled. Natalie read 
two or three of the notes with approval. 

‘^Craig,^’ she exclaimed, showing them to him with 
animation, “Corinne Carfax had ideas, too—ideas 
that kept her above the ordinary. No wonder a 
man like Douglas Lisle—they called him a financial 
adventurer—was drawn to her. Her mind must 


200 


ATAVAR 


have been a whetstone on which to sharpen his own 
wits. I'm going to take this book with me." 

Curiously she opened drawers in the old Queen 
Anne desk and rummaged about. ‘Think of having 
a secret trysting place like this!" she chatted on. 
“Think of having a lover these days who would pre¬ 
sent you with a theater—and a love nest in it, too!" 

I reflected on how little thought Natalie seemed 
to give the idea that caused this nest to be built. 
Had not the love of Corinne, at first, at least, been 
a secret love? It must have been, for Douglas 
Lisle’s first wife was living many months after Cor¬ 
inne had accepted his love and care. Before the 
world, Corinne had lived in the house now occupied 
by the Pirates’ Cave. But really her nights, her 
happier hours, were spent in this secret apartment 
with her handsome lover. 

“Look!" 

It was the bedroom of the suite. Natalie stood in 
the middle of the room, her eyes staring as if self- 
hypnotized at a portrait still hanging on the wall. 
Corinne Carfax from the wall seemed to be smiling 
into the same wonderful eyes of Natalie—a mod¬ 
ernized vision of herself. How much alike they 
were! Only in clothes and the way they wore their 
hair did they seem to differ. 

“Isn’t she beautiful?" murmured Natalie. 

“Yes—you are lovely," quickened Craig. 

Natalie seemed to color as he said it. 

“You are very like her, Natalie. The theater 
world will be at your feet just as it was in the old 
days at hers." Craig had laid his hand lightly on 
her shoulder. 

Natalie seemed to feel the need of changing the 


ATAVAR 


201 


subject. ‘‘See! There is the old bed. It has been 
in the family for years and years. See the skull and 
crossbones, carved and placed in the center of the 
headboard? This is the bed my pirate ancestor, the 
old Governor Carfax, slept in when he was ashore, 
behaving himself. This bed has a history. There^s 
something unique about it that I have heard, too. 
. . . I'm going to find out. The bed disappeared. 
Now here it is. I once had a nurse who told me 
something my father had once told my mother of 
it. I have found it at last. Let me see." 

Natalie was hke a child in a nursery in her eager 
earnestness. She examined the old walnut bed with 
an almost hushed reverence. It was another breath 
from the past. Desecration would not only be sac¬ 
rilege to her grandmother, but to generations two 
centuries before even that. 

She raised her hand to examine the carving of the 
skull and crossbones, rather a grewsome ornamenta¬ 
tion to exorcise evil, I thought. As she did so, it 
moved slightly. Surprised, she gave it a harder 
push. It moved aside further. 

There, under the applied bit of carving, was a 
hollow in the shape of and big enough to hold an 
old-fashioned pistol. It had been for that purpose 
once, as in many old beds. Now, instead of the 
pistol, there was a yellowed, age-stained paper, 
folded neatly. 

Natalie picked it out carefully and we bent over 
it with her. It was an ancient map. 

“It's the map I've been looking for a long time!" 
exclaimed Natalie, with hushed breath. “I had the 
traditions; now this confirms them! . . . I'm so 
glad, I could cry. Just as soon as ‘Astarte' closes, 


ATAVAR 


202 

I’ll go on that trip—^because this is the map that 
tells where the galleon was sunk. I thought I had 
the right island. Now I know it. . . . Gordon will 
have to make good on his promise about the yacht 
sooner than he expected!” 

Kennedy said nothing. I could not help regard¬ 
ing the pair of them in the room of her grandmother 
and grandfather with a hushed reverence^ as if in 
some mausoleum of love. I thought of Roger 
Gerard, also, of his grandfather, Hugh, the gay, 
restless artist fallen under the spell of Corinne Car- 
fax, whom he had created—only to lose. 

We started in our own silence. Outside in the 
great dark outer part of the cellar foimdation there 
was a booming reverberation, as if something heavy 
had fallen. 

Before any of us could move, there was an oath, 
a shot, a scream in rapid succession—followed by a 
crash—and silence. 

Kennedy was first to recover his poise. With his 
flashlight poking ahead cautiously, he moved into 
the outer darkness of that cellar. The moment we 
got into it, away from the grotto, the air seemed 
charged with a peculiar heavy odor. 

Craig had taken not five more steps, trying with 
the spotlight to pierce the darkness when there 
came a flash directly ahead from under the masonry 
of the foundation—and the spot in his hands was 
shattered. 

He took four or five steps ahead. I pressed after 
him. Suddenly I felt the filmy garments of Natalie 
brush me as she moved ahead of me to Kennedy. 

‘‘Craig,” I heard her whisper, tensely, “Craig, be 


ATAVAR 203 

careful! Don’t stumble. . . . Oh, Craig . . . keep 
your head!” 

I thought of his own admonition to her only a few 
moments before in the underground corridor. Did 
she know of danger to him, now? 

“Craig! ” she whispered. “You know—the ancient 
foundations of the Hendrick Inn—under the cellar 
of the old theater! I have heard there was a well— 
an underground river—something they could never 
stop—that they built over—drained out into the 
great city sewer. Craig. .... Stop!” 

Cautiously we came up to them. Natalie had 
either known of or seen in the dark a slimy slide 
into some dark pit or tarn. They were standing on 
its very brink. She had saved him from another 
step that would have meant danger, perhaps death. 

I was doing some rapid thinking now as Boyle 
came up with his own weaker bull’s-eye flashlight 
and showed me the figures of these two standing on 
the edge of this abyss. 

Kennedy satisfied in her the fascination for the 
Hawtrey and Gaunt type—and also her respect for 
the Roger Gerard type. 

There they stood, linked for the instant, Kennedy 
and Natalie. In an instant then it swept over me 
that in reality Natalie was desperately in love with 
Craig. 

The same instant I asked myself, had she known 
something—made her choice—saved Craig? 

Kennedy reached over and took the flashlight 
from Boyle. Carefully he skirted the old weU, now 
a reeking tarn. 

He came to a tumbled-over pile of old lumber. 


204 ATAVAR 

He sniffed. There was an unmistakable odor now 
of ether. 

“Part of this old junk pile fell,” he muttered, 
bending over and moving some of it. “That was 
what we heard first. Lucky it did. There was an 
incendiary bomb here. When the junk fell, it shot 
it down—into the water—there—hissing out!” 

Practical Boyle was never interested in thinking 
what he had escaped. He had gone over to one 
side, away from the old lumber pile. 

“Ill be—cited for conspicuous bravery under 
firewater!” 

We were at Boyle^s side in a moment. There 
under the huge arches of masonry of the foundation, 
like a wine cellar, under the theater was the store¬ 
house of hootch! 

One entrance had been through the secret stair¬ 
way from the old Lisle office. There had been 
another through a grating to the street. Here was 
the source that led through the grotto to the office, 
to the star's dressing room, by the corridor to the 
Pirates' Cave! 

Kennedy had other things on his mind than 
Boyle's preferment in promotion in the sumptuary 
service. He had a great violation of human law on 
his mind, a violation of human law that had grown 
from ill-advised man-made law—the mystery of the 
slaying of Hawtrey. Without a word, he drew me 
so that I helped him to make a barrier to shield 
Natalie. But Natalie was too quick. She saw 
even as I. 

Back of the lumber pile that had fallen lay a body 
—scarcely yet cold. 

Javary had been murdered. 


ATAVAR 


205 


Boyle’s and Dunphy’s clew had ended in—a dead 
man. Javary had been murdered ... by whom? 
. . . why? Had he known too much about some¬ 
body? About whom? 


CHAPTER XI 


GOLD AND THE GIRL 

Two questions arose in Kennedy’s mind after the 
raid, as a result of the killing of Javary. Who killed 
Javary? Who owned that sizable cache of liquor 
hidden in the cellar of the old Union Theater, now 
in the hands of Boyle and the enforcement office? 
Most of the evening was taken up in an effort to 
gain information on these questions. ^ 

Kennedy began by going to the officers of the 
Union Theater Corporation. The active man 
seemed to be Herman Sumovitch, the treasurer. 
Sumovitch was a dapper martinet, the kind that at 
once takes refuge in meticulous technicalities. As 
a theater man he was a good lawyer; as a lawyer he 
might have been a good banker; and as a banker he 
quickly hid under being a theater man. His long 
suit was reasoning in a vicious circle. He was about 
eighteen times too clever for his own success. 

I knew that Sumovitch was not above bootleg¬ 
ging; he had the earmarks of now and then taking 
a flyer in it for gain. But there was nothing in mere 
personal dislike to controvert his vehement asser¬ 
tion that the liquor did not belong to the Theater 
Corporation. He made haste to disclaim it, and 
with reason. As he puffed his chest out like a little 
206 


ATAVAR 207 

rooster, I knew that underneath he was fearful of 
the federal ^^padlock^’ law. 

^^But it must have belonged to some one,’’ per¬ 
sisted Craig, quietly. ^‘Whom? Who leased that 
cellar—^and the office?” 

The very phrasing of Sumovitch was offensive. I 
felt that the corporation was doomed to early failure 
under the smart guidance of such a type. ^^The 
lease from the corporation for the large office and 
the use of the cellar for one year was taken out in 
the name of one Javary,” he reiterated. 

I saw that law and justice were never going to 
get far with this sophist. As Kennedy remarked, 
outside, it could not have been really Javary; some 
one must have been back of him. Was it Hawtrey? 
But Hawtrey was dead. Had it been Hawtrey, 
alone, then^ 

^'Who would have known of the connection be¬ 
tween the office and the cellar—between the Pirates’ 
Cave and the star’s dressing room?” asked Kennedy. 

^That lawyer, Justus James,” I hesitated. 

‘^Exactly. I want to see him again.” 

We managed to locate the attorney at his club up¬ 
town, rather late. As Craig laid the facts of the 
raid before him, he assumed not to be interested. 
His attitude was that of many prohibitionists, ^Tt 
is the law.” When that was said, there was nothing 
further. So Justus James wrote ^Tinis”; Justus 
James had spoken. 

‘^You are not interested?” pursued Craig. ‘^But 
you drew the Hawtrey will, did you not? His estate 
ought to be interested—if it was his. Perhaps the 
government will make it interested.” 

James elevated and wrinkled his forehead, extend- 


208 


ATAVAR 


ing open both palms of his hands. ^^True. I offered 
the will for probate. I do not wish to be in the posi¬ 
tion of casting doubt upon it. But I am told that 
there may be some dispute. The signature will have 
to be established, first. ... Yes, I drew the docu¬ 
ment up. But it was not signed in my presence. I 
am named in it to carry out its terms. But he must 
have signed it if at all, not in my presence. That is 
a matter that witnesses must establish. It was 
found, as it is, among his papers. ... As to the 
ownership of this liquor you speak of, I know noth¬ 
ing. I don’t want to know. I don’t care. Good 
evening, Mr. Kennedy.” 

So Justus James washed his hands of the whole 
matter, refusing even to attempt to untangle it for 
any of his clients or their estates. 

^^But who questions the will?” reiterated Kennedy. 

‘T am told that Inger Dean asserts she was Mr. 
Hawtrey’s common law wife and that she is thereby 
entitled to one-third. As to the validity, the 
chances, I will not be quoted. That is for the sur¬ 
rogate’s court to determine—first. You know how 
New York courts look upon the ^common law wife’ 
now. Good night!” 

It was four o’clock in the morning, the time when 
vitality in this part of the earth seems to reach its 
lowest ebb, when the sleeping human comes closer 
to dissolution than at any other hour. Doctors have 
said that, four o’clock in the morning, it is some¬ 
times only the subconsciousness, stirring the body to 
motion and deeper breathing, that prevents the soul 
from shipping on the great uncharted voyage. It 
was at four o’clock that our telephone rang and I 
answered it. 


ATAVAR 


209 


^^Oh, Craig, I'm so frightened!" came a tremulous 
voice. Then Natalie recognized mine. ^‘Oh, Walter 
. . . I've seen a ghost!" Her voice sounded weak 
over the telephone. I tried to reassure her. “No— 
no! I saw it. I'm shaking yet with fright over it. 
I'm actually in a cold sweat. Wh-where's Craig?" 

Kennedy by this time had taken the telephone 
from my hands. “A ghost, Natalie?" He said it 
without a trace of raillery. “Wait. I'll be over, 
with Walter. . . . Look around. You see, I'm one 
of those skeptics that antagonize spirits. Now, 
don't let yourself get wrought up. I'll be there— 
directly." 

Craig betrayed none of it, but I was amused in a 
kindly manner when we saw Natalie a few minutes 
later. Her color was gone and she showed plainly 
that she had had some shock. All the lights were 
blazing, the windows were locked, and she had been 
sitting huddled up right near the door into the hall. 

“I wanted to get out quick where I could scream 
and wake somebody up, if I had another visitation," 
she smiled, nervously. 

In spite of, perhaps because of, her fright, Natalie 
was beautiful in her blue negligee with its many 
pleated ruffles and flounces of lace. She looked like 
a little girl. I can usually distinguish the ladies who 
have chosen the easiest way from girls who live 
lives of simplicity—by their negligees. The former 
affect the long clinging lines, the sinuous folds, the 
suggestive; the latter revel in ruffles. 

“Tell me the ghost story," encouraged Craig. 
“You have a fine hour to tell it. It's darkest before 
dawn. That will deepen the thrill of it." 

His presence seemed to relieve the girl's visible 


210 


ATAVAR 


anxiety. had gone to bed—been in bed a long 
time—when I heard the curtain blowing in the 
wind. It waked me. I sat up quickly, intending to 
get up and fix it. All the time I had been looking 
at the window and listening to the curtain. I 
turned to get up, and looked about the room. Oh! 
I shall never forget it! A figure . . . the figure of 
a woman, all in white, was bending forward in my 
direction, and had her finger pointed right at me! I 
was frozen. My legs, every muscle was paralyzed. 
I couldn’t scream. I couldn’t close my eyes! 

‘^As the figure moved slowly from that corner— 
where my secretary stands—I thought she was com¬ 
ing over to touch me!” Natalie shivered at the 
thought of it. always heard that the greeting of 
a ghost was a token of death. I thought I would die 
on the spot. I couldn’t stand it any longer. I had 
just strength enough to lift my body and whisper: 
‘Go away! Go away!’ Then I got the use of my 
muscles a little bit. I pulled the satin comfortable 
up and covered my head with it.” She laughed 
nervously. “Like an ostrich!” 

Kennedy said nothing and Natalie went on: 

“Then I heard a noise over by the window and I 
got up enough courage to peep out from under my 
ostrich protection. The wraith seemed to be float-' 
ing out of the window, with gauzy draperies blowing 
back, fairylike, into the room.” 

“What did you do then?” 

“I got my nerve back a little bit. I jumped up, 
lighted the night light, then all the lights. By that 
time she had floated out, down that way.” 

Natalie indicated. 

“Let me look.” Kennedy stepped to the window. 


ATAVAR 


211 


Just below the level of the windows ran a ledge of 
white stone, actually a couple of feet in width. 
‘What did the ghost do then?^' 

“She floated down, almost to the end of the build¬ 
ing, and disappeared. ... It seemed through the 
wall.” 

“I imagine through a window to that fire exit, 
... Was the window open as wide as that when 
you went to bed?” 

“No,” replied Natalie, reluctantly. 

I have noticed that no matter how frightened we 
are by ghosts, we rather resent anyone saying they 
were not ghosts. 

For a moment Craig said nothing, glad to have 
her relieve her pent-up feelings in some other man¬ 
ner, such as combating him. “Where did you see 
this figure first?” 

“Over there. She was leaning over my secretary. 
She turned as I sat up—and waved that long bony 
finger at me!” 

“What do you keep there? Anything of im¬ 
portance?” 

“Why—yes. No money or jewels, of course. But 
I keep my contracts and a few papers I wouldn't 
want to lose.” 

“Where did you put that paper you found in the 
old bed in the grotto under the theater?” 

Natalie’s eyes opened wide with sudden anxiety. 
She caught herself as she answered. “In there, 
tool” By this time she was at the desk. “Why, 
everything is all jumbled up I ... But I don’t think 
anything has been taken.” She took a little knob 
off one end and disclosed a space big enough to slip 


212 


ATAVAR 


a tightly rolled paper. ''I put the pirate paper in 
here. I’m glad I did. It’s safe!” 

Suddenly Natalie dropped the paper in terror. 
^^Craig! Do you think it was a spirit of the past, 
some victim of my pirate ancestor—an elemental 
come for the pirate paper? I wonder. ... Is it a 
warning to me to give up the expedition? I almost 
feel like destroying it!” She kicked the paper gin¬ 
gerly with the dainty toe of her blue-satin mule. 

I picked the paper up and inserted it back in the 
space from which Natalie had extracted it. 

^TOd you make out a face?” 

‘^N-no ... all white.” 

Kennedy leaned again out of the window. When 
he turned he had something white, gauzy, in his 
hand. ^^See what was fluttering from the ironwork 
on the ledge? Some fllmy drapery left by your 
ghostly visitor as she got out of the window. This 
was the ectoplasm! Somebody attempted to rob 
you. ... A woman in black one night. Then 
a woman in white, the next. . . . It’s mighty 
strange.” 

woman,” I repeated, thinking of the blonde in 
black at Hawtrey’s house . . . Who? . . . Could 
it be Dorothy Carfax to spite Carfax ... or Fay— 
for Carfax? 

Kennedy had succeeded at least in quieting Nata¬ 
lie’s fears. Bad as it was to have a live thief, most 
people prefer it to a dead one. I knew Natalie 
would sit up and run up the electric light bill until 
dawn. 

“If you learn anything, Craig, let me know? 
Come up to the theater—to-night.” She looked 


ATAVAR 213 

him full in the eye. “We had a pretty good time 
the other night.’’ 

Kennedy met her as frankly. “Did you—^have a 
good time last night—^with Gaunt?” 

“Oh, yes—I guess so. Come up—please. Oh, by 
the way, have you heard that Inger Dean has gone 
out to Gaunt’s place as housekeeper? . . . Now, 
I’ll expect you . . . Craig.” 

“Was it Inger—for Gaunt?” I added to my specu¬ 
lations as we were leaving. 

Kennedy merely shrugged. “Psychic terror brings 
about strange results,” he remarked, irrelevantly. 

The next morning—it seemed so, at least, rather 
than the same morning—Boyle sent around a rather 
bulky envelope, with a note. The note explained 
briefly that, after the raid, Boyle had obtained a 
warrant, had searched the room of Norman Carfax, 
had found nothing that interested his office, but 
had come across a copy of a mysterious manuscript 
entitled, “A Notable Lawsuit,” and was sending it 
around to Kennedy. 

Kennedy glanced at it hurriedly, then became 
absorbed in it. “I wonder,” he said, looking up, 
“if this is something that rankled with Carfax and 
his Southern pride of family?” 

“Why? What is it?” 

“It’s a story of a suit for one million dollars in¬ 
stituted by Douglas Lisle against Cameron Carfax, 
president of the Virginia Railroad Company, in 
1873. Cameron Carfax was the brother of Corinne 
Carfax, the youngest child of the family. Corinne 
had been married for several years to Lisle, then, 
after she had run away to New York to make her 
name on the stage, had been the protegee of Hugh 


214 


ATAVAR 


Gerard, and finally had been taken away from him 
by old Douglas Lisle/' 

“But what was the suit?" 

Kennedy fingered the pages. “A story of a cave 
—and an iron box, treasure, in Sea Isle; other facts 
to be disclosed later, it says. It tells how an old 
Carfax had taken it all and that now—that is, in 
1873—the lineal descendants of one James Lisle in¬ 
stituted suit demanding that a large sum of money, 
calculated out in a schedule, be divided into five 
equal shares for the benefit of the descendants of 
Richard Carfax, James Lisle, Harold Blythe, John 
Gaunt, and Thomas Hawtrey, named in the story. 
It's not so much a thing of two generations ago; 
it is of two centuries ago. This old Lisle in 1873 
seems to have been seeking also the Gaunt, Blythe, 
and Hawtrey heirs to join them in the suit against 
the Carfaxes." 

“So it's again the story of the pirate governor and 
the sunken treasure off Sea Isle?" I jumped to the 
conclusion. 

“Sea Isle—and the Cave of Pirates," nodded 
Kennedy. 

“Why—that was the rum-running base of Haw¬ 
trey!" I exclaimed. “And it was the headquarters 
of the pirates of the seventeenth century, too!" 

“WeU, why not? If it was good then, it is good 
now for smugglers and pirates," returned Craig. 
“People are pretty much the same now as then, 
underneath the veneer. They didn't have the 
veneer then. That's about all." 

“How did it come out? Does it tell?" 

“Yes, the story says that the suit was dropped 
when Douglas Lisle acquired the bankrupt rail- 


ATAVAR 


215 


road for a song, adding it as an important link to 
his Continental Railroad system. I suspect there 
was just a little more to it than this alleged suit. 
That was the year of the great panic you know, 
1873, when Douglas Lisle clinched his fortune.” 

‘‘But,” I exclaimed, ‘T thought there had been no 
Carfax estate to speak of after the war? What 
could have been the purpose of the suit?” 

“Well,” returned Kennedy, “first of all to get 
the Virginia railroad.” He paused. “Then there 
may have been a secondary purpose—the title to 
the treasure.” 

“But what now?” I considered. “Why bring this 
thing back to life again? Can it be something to 
cloud the title of Natalie now, should she discover 
the treasure she says she will seek? That would 
be a sort of poetic justice—dragging to the light at 
this late day the very contention of old Douglas 
Lisle to defeat his descendant, in the interest of 
the descendant of the man from whom he forced 
this Southern railroad!” 

Kennedy nodded. “It may be a story of two 
generations ago. , . . But all the more reason to 
know the story of two centuries ago. That’s what 
I want next, above all things. Did you ever meet 
Bradford Thorpe, the new librarian up at the uni¬ 
versity? No? Well, he is somewhat of a genea¬ 
logist, a friend, by the way, of Roger Gerard’s. 
Thorpe spends his time delving back into Colonial 
days. Nothing is much good if it isn’t at least a 
hundred years old. It’s twice as good if it’s two 
hundred. He told me the other day that he was 
gathering material for a book of pirates, or some¬ 
thing of the sort. I want to see him.” 


216 ATAVAR 

We found Thorpe in his alcove surrounded by 
Americana. Kennedy began by expatiating on our 
friendship with Roger, after hinting as to the pirate 
story that was really on our minds. 

^^Have you seen him lately?’’ asked Thorpe. 

'"Not for a couple of days,” returned Craig. ^'By 
the way, where is Roger? Do you see him?” 

‘^No. He is down in New Jersey, I believe, in 
Camden. His boat has been launched, you know, 
and he is down there hurrying them in fitting it 
out.” 

'T see,” nodded Kennedy. ‘^Now, about this 
pirate story.” 

^Dh yes, yes! Are you really interested?” 
Thorpe’s face lighted up. It is not always that a 
man can find an audience for his hobby. 

^Tndeed I am,” responded Craig. ^Tn fact, if I 
knew something of this Carfax tradition, I believe 
I might, in a few days be in a position to give you 
a good deal on it myself.” 

Thorpe settled back in his chair among his books. 
‘Well, in the late days of the seventeenth century 
and the first years of the eighteenth, there seems 
to have been a pair of pirates. One was the gover¬ 
nor of an island colony in the Bahamas, Richard 
Carfax. They called him the ‘Pious Pirate.’ The other 
was an unscrupulous, swashbuckling sea captain, 
John Gaunt. 

“Now, suppose you think back to one day in July, 
1698, when a couple of little ships dropped anchor 
down there in the harbor at Sea Isle. Word came 
ashore that Richard Carfax was on board with the 
Bang’s warrant making him governor and vice-ad¬ 
miral of the islands. I suppose that is how he got his 


ATAVAR 217 

name, the Tious Pirate/ I don’t know. But he 
seems to have had a pious motto later.” 

^What was that?” 

The fewer our numbers, the greater our booty!’ 
Now, do you know who was on shore to greet him? 
A couple of hundred bloody pirates with pistols in 
their belts and dirks under the skirts of their coats 
—if they wore coats.” 

Thorpe fumbled in a mass of manuscript in the 
top drawer of his desk. Then he drew forth a sheet. 
‘^Here. This is like a catalogue of ships. There 
were Jack Augur, Dennis Mackarthy, Bill Dowling, 
Tom Morris, James Lisle, George Bendall, George 
Rounsivel, Harold Blythe, Captain Charlie Vane, 
Ben Horneygold, Thomas Hawtrey, Arthur Davis, 
known as the Boston Terror, Joe Burgess from 
Philadelphia ... oh, a lot of others. Some of these 
I have the names of, because they were later hanged. 
Oh yes. They hanged women pirates in those days, 
too. Did you know that? Six of them. The most 
noted was Ann Bonny, or Bonny Ann, and Mary 
Read. They stole a ship and took along as sailing 
master Calico Jack Rockham. Calico Jack was 
hanged later. Then Joe Munster murdered Ann 
Bonny, for Mary, who was later also probably 
hanged, I should say, although I am looking that 
record up yet. Oh, old Blackboard, Teach, Captain 
William Kidd, and Sir Henry Morgan got a lot of 
credit. But they were Sunday-school scholars to 
these Bahama boys and girls. They never had 
proper historians. That’s what I’m doing.” Thorpe 
smiled with a grim humor. ^T’m going to give ’em 
justice in my book. Yes, yes. These pirate boys 
that made the Bahamas their stamping ground were 


218 


ATAVAR 


pirates, with a capital T/ They never had any 
good writers to boost them. But Nassau, Sea Isle, 
and those other islands were the breeding place of 
hard-boiled buccaneers. Why, the very word 'buc¬ 
caneer’ came from those islands. People went there 
to cure and dry meat for the pirates, make money, 
'buccaneer’ . . . then they turned pirates them¬ 
selves, took the word along with ’em.” 

"Where did this John Gaunt come in?” asked 
Craig. 

"I said there were two ships, you remember. He 
was on the other ship, captain. Captain Gaunt, it 
seems, had won an enviable reputation in the Eng- 
hsh and American merchant marine as a brave and 
intelligent officer. From what I told you of this 
crowd you can see that for many years the English 
merchant marine must have been preyed on by 
pirates. The depredations were not only along our 
own coast, but everywhere on the high seas. Well, 
the EngUsh merchants finally bought and equipped 
a stanch httle war vessel, placed it under the com¬ 
mand of Captain Gaunt, and sent him out with the 
new Governor Carfax expressly to chastise and de¬ 
stroy pirates.” 

"And the scheme of this governor-adventurer, 
Carfax, consisted in approaching Gaunt-” 

"Just a minute, Kennedy. You’re right. But 
you’re getting ahead of the story. Oh, well. All 
right. There was a Cave of the Pirates, in Sea Isle. 
That was Captain Gaunt’s rendezvous with Gover¬ 
nor Carfax. Carfax had a lieutenant, Thomas 
Hawtrey one of the so-caUed ex-pirates, as go-be¬ 
tween. The others you mentioned when you came 
in, James Lisle and Harold Blythe, were mates that 


ATAVAR 219 

Captain Gaunt shipped as assistants before he 
started out from the islands on his hunt.” 

^^And their agreement was to split it five ways?” 

Thorpe shook his head. ^Tive ways or six ways. 
I donT know. There is said to have been such an 
agreement. But I have never seen a copy of it. 
Why, do you know of it?” 

Kennedy shrugged. ‘T have heard of it. I may 
come across something. If I do, you will know it. 
Go on. Your story is good.” 

‘Then,” resumed Thorpe, “after they reached the 
coast of East Africa in this little war vessel, news 
was received of the destruction by Gaunt of sundry 
piratical vessels containing much treasure. Now, 
history says that the capture of this treasure seemed 
to excite the cupidity of Captain Gaunt. In reality, 
it was by agreement with Governor Carfax, the 
Pious Pirate, that he did what he did. Thereupon 
Captain John Gaunt engaged in the very occupa¬ 
tion he had been sent to suppress. For years he was 
literally the scourge of the seas, this Captain Gaunt 
and his swashbuckling crew of buccaneers—first 
mate, James Lisle; second mate, Harold Blythe.” 

Thorpe turned the pages of his manuscript for 
the book of pirates. But he did not read. He did 
not need to do more than refresh his mind. It was 
all at his finger tips. 

“In the year 1700 Lady Gerard and her beautiful 
daughter, Sylvia Gerard, were returning to England 
from India—this is the part I dug up abroad for 
Roger—returning from India when the vessel upon 
which they had taken passage was fired upon and 
captured by Captain Gaunt. The ladies were com¬ 
pelled, upon peril of their lives, to surrender all their 


220 


ATAVAR 


jewelry and were carried as prisoners. Some of the 
others were killed. But the ladies were carried finally 
back to this rendezvous at Sea Isle. 

'That’s where Richard Carfax met the ladies— 
and that’s where Carfax double-crossed his pirate 
associates, some people think to clear himself. He 
wanted to go back, and he wanted to go back rich. 
Anyhow, they had a wild revel of drinking. They 
never threw any of the strong liquor overboard; 
John Barleycorn never walked the plank for them. 
It was at the height of this bacchanal, over the divi¬ 
sion of the spoils, when the Pious Pirate Carfax 
was planning to take most of the booty and double- 
cross Gaunt and the others, even his own go-be¬ 
tween, when there was a mutiny. Maybe you know 
of that. There’s been some of it in histories. The 
mutineers stole a Spanish galleon from Sea Isle 
and a lot of treasure, all except what had been 
buried in the cave. 

"Carfax went in pursuit with a British brig. It 
was a fight with no quarter and it ended in the 
sinking of that galleon laden with pillage some¬ 
where down there. The mutineers were either dead 
or fugitives. The galleon lay in, say, a hundred feet 
of water, too deep for divers in those days. But 
it gave Carfax an opportunity that he wasn’t slow to 
take. He could pose as the pirate pursuer. And 
he had the greater part of the loot in that box hid¬ 
den in the cave.” 

"So there was an iron box hidden?” 

"So they say. I’ll tell you in a moment my proof, 
why I think there was.” Thorpe turned the pages. 
"So, they went back to England. Richard Carfax 
was in line for a knighthood and was waiting for it. 


ATAVAR 


221 


Justice Gerard was overjoyed at having Lady Gerard 
and his daughter Sylvia back safe. He had de¬ 
spaired of them. He had come from India on a 
later boat and had got to London first. This young 
lady, Sylvia Gerard, seems to have been an inter¬ 
esting personality. I have a chapter here about her. 
She had a most inordinate passion for dancing.” 

I shot a hasty, significant look at Kennedy. Here 
was the precise and actual prototype of Natalie in 
her ancestor, Sylvia Gerard. He nodded back a 
remark or two. 

^^You know,” pursued Thorpe, oblivious to our 
obiter dicta, ^^those were the days of Beau Nash.” 
Thorpe was now reading from his book. “The pur¬ 
suit of his calling as gamester led Beau Nash to 
Bath in 1705, where he had the good fortune almost 
immediately to succeed Captain Webb as master of 
ceremonies. His qualifications for such a position 
were unique and under his authority reforms were 
introduced which rapidly secured to Bath a leading 
position as a fashionable watering place. He drew 
up a code of rules for the regulation of balls and 
assemblies. Notwithstanding his vanity and imper¬ 
tinence, the tact, energy, and superficial cleverness 
of Nash won him the patronage and notice of the 
great. He was a man of strong personality and con¬ 
siderably more able than Beau Brummel, whose 
predecessor he was.” 

Thorpe looked up from his book. “That was the 
atmosphere into which Sylvia Gerard and Richard 
Carfax, still in the prime of life, plunged on their 
return.” He ran the pages through his fingers. “I 
have a good deal about them here. You know, be¬ 
fore that, there had been the old Morris dances— 


222 


ATAVAR 


the Moorish dances, really, from Spainv There 
were the Elizabethan dances. All the Tudor dances 
were kissing games—'Hunt the slipper,' 'Kiss in the 
ring,' 'Here we go round the mulberry bush,' 'John, 
come kiss me now.' The dance underwent no con¬ 
siderable development until the reign of Queen 
Anne, when the glories of Bath rose to their height 
under Beau Nash. Then there were balls in which 
the polite French dances completely eclipsed the 
simpler English. That was the time in London of 
Ranelagh, Vauxhall, and Almack’s. The old Eng¬ 
lish dances were jolly romping dances. It was just 
about this time that there came a change. And 
Sylvia Gerard seems to have plunged into the new 
dances with an abandon that—^well, it meant some¬ 
thing. I don't know whether it needs a genealogist 
or a psychologist." 

"Both," put in Craig, succinctly. 

Thorpe smiled. But he was full of his subject. 
"Here's a letter that I have found which I have 
traced to old Justice Gerard. 'As the best institu¬ 
tions are liable to corruption, so, sir, I must acquaint 
you that very great abuses are crept into this enter¬ 
tainment. I was amazed at Bath to see my girl 
handled by and handling young fellows with so much 
familiarity, and I could not have thought it had been 
my child. They very often made use of a most 
impudent and lascivious step called setting to part¬ 
ners, which I know not how to describe to you but 
by telling you that it is the very reverse of back 
to back. At last an impudent young dog bid the 
fiddlers play a dance called 'Moll Patley,' and, after 
having made two or three capers, ran to his partner, 
locked his arms in hers, and whisked her round 


ATAVAR 


223 


cleverly above ground in such manner that I, who 
sat upon one of the lowest benches, saw further 
above her shoes than I can think fit to acquaint you 
with. I could no longer endure these enormities, 
wherefore, just as my girl Sylvia was going to be 
made a whirligig, I ran in, seized my child, and 
carried her home/ 

I could not help a smile. ‘^Reforming proto¬ 
type of Roger!’' I exclaimed. 

^^History—fife—repeats itself,” agreed Kennedy. 

^^So,” pursued Thorpe, '^you see the dance has 
affected some people the same for three centuries!” 

^Three?” repeated Craig ‘Tt was the same in 
Rome, with the laws and suppression of the wild 
dances of Dionysus in the groves. I suppose ancient 
man tried to reform the dances of phallic worship. 
Oh yes, few continuing customs of the race have 
called for more reform than dancing!” He turned 
to Thorpe. ^^You said something a moment ago 
about proofs of the pirate treasure.” 

^Dh yes.” Thorpe turned on a few pages. '^While 
I was in London last summer I was accorded the 
privilege of looking over some old account books of 
the original Roderick Streeter, dealer in gems and 
so forth. I examined particularly the years 1700 
to 1705 and found a more or less detailed statement 
of transactions. It seems that in one year Richard 
Carfax received forty thousand odd pounds as ad¬ 
vances against certain French and Spanish coins. 
In the last year I found £4,213 8s balance due on 
French and Spanish coins. Other entries for sale 
of precious stones—diamonds, rubies, and pearls— 
totaled nearly £52,000. In all I found over £96,000 
—which is a stupendous sum for those days. I think 


224 


ATAVAR 


that is pretty clear circumstantial evidence. Dia¬ 
monds, rubies, pearls, French and Spanish coins do 
not grow in the Bahamas. This was during the 
time when in the fashionable circles of England 
the romance of Richard Carfax and Sylvia Gerard 
was culminating. 

^'Sir Richard Carfax had already won his knight¬ 
hood, and not a year later he married Sylvia, the 
heiress of Gerard Manor, who had been the captive 
of Gaunt and his crew. There was a younger son, 
young Geoffrey Gerard, ancestor of Roger. Old 
Judge Geoffrey Gerard became known as the ‘Hang¬ 
ing Gerard^ because he sought to rid the sea of pi¬ 
rates by his merciless sentences.^^ 

“Roger comes by his reforming character justly/^ 
I observed. 

“Sir Richard married,’’ pursued Thorpe. “Hence 
by his cleverness, Carfax not only went free after 
that episode in Sea Isle, but the ‘Pious Pirate’ made 
Lisle, Blythe, Hawtrey, and Gaunt fugitives on the 
face of the earth. Others in the crew died in the 
Execution Block in England; some on the ram¬ 
parts of the fort at Gould Town in the Bahamas. 
After he was married. Sir Richard Carfax came to 
America with Lady Carfax to Virginia, where he had 
a great estate.” 

“Thank you, Thorpe,” said Kennedy as we rose 
to go. “That has been of incalculable value to me. 
I shall surely give you more facts for your book 
before you publish it.” 

As we walked down the library steps to the cam¬ 
pus I could not help observing, “It looks as if there 
was a purpose back of that ‘notable lawsuit’ manu¬ 
script, too. Remember the old adage, ‘The fewer 


ATAVAR 


225 


our numbers, the greater the booty!’ ” We walked 
along a bit. ‘Who is back of that revival of the old 
lawsuit story? Norman Carfax, Gaunt?” 

“They seem to be heirs,” replied Craig, senten- 
tiously. 

“But so is Fay Blythe. You know Fay Blythe 
and Norman Carfax. Might that account for the 
bitterness of Dorothy Carfax? Who rifled that 
closet of Haw trey? Who revived this fascinating 
old yam? Who tried to get the pirate paper from 
Natalie? Why is Inger contesting the Hawtrey 
will? Heavens! but there are a hundred unan¬ 
swered questions in this case, Craig.” 

“One reason why I want to go into the silences 
this afternoon Walter,” returned Kennedy. “I in¬ 
tend to take Natalie’s invitation to see her at the 
American to-night. I shall expect to see you then.” 

So it was that I found myself at the American 
Opera fully an hour before Craig. 

There was the same brilliant audience, the same 
eager expectancy, as at the first night. To me it 
seemed that “Astarte” was an assured success. 

I was elated when in the lobby among the late 
arrivals I spied Roger Gerard. But I think he would 
have passed me if I had not called to him. His face 
wore lines of worry and I had almost thought ap¬ 
prehension. He looked like a man so engrossed in 
his troubles that one might hear of almost any 
startling act of his and not be overwhelmed with 
surprise. Brooding makes animals of us all. 

I knew Craig would want to see Roger and I 
took his arm and tried as best I could to lead the 
conversation. I soon found that he had but one 
idea, like an obsession, on his mind—Natalie. 


226 


ATAVAR 


''She is a genius, Roger!” I exclaimed, hoping 
to fall in with his mental step. "She has charmed 
even the jaded first-nighters.” 

"That's the trouble, Walter,” Roger returned. 
"Too many are interested in her. I am afraid I 
am out of the race, unless a miracle happens. But 
I intend to stick until this last thing I have heard 
about is settled. Is Craig here?” 

"Coming, any minute. Where have you been? 
What latest thing do you mean?” 

"Oh, something I heard about Natalie. It has 
made me speed up things on my new yacht. Nomad 
III. I've been down at the yard and I think I have 
everybody working on it now, with overtime and 
bonuses, until I can have it in a few days. I hear 
Gaunt has his boat in commission.” 

I nodded. "You know why?” 

He shook his head gloomily. "Yes . . . some fool 
expedition of Natalie for sunken pirate treasure. 
Natalie is sincere. Gaunt—^never. She is the treas¬ 
ure he is after and he isn't particular how he gets 
her. That expedition will end in another tragedy 
if it isn't stopped. My God! why can't that girl 
see things like other people? Where's Kennedy?” 

"Because she's a genius Roger,” I ignored, hoping 
to keep him quiet until Craig arrived. "Did you 
ever see a genius without peculiarities? Were you 
going back to see her? Let's go. I expect Craig 
there—more likely than here, now. You know well 
that if she acted like other girls you wouldn't care 
for her. It's because she is different.” I tried to 
evoke a smile from his gloom, but succeeded indiffer¬ 
ently. "Don't worry so much about Natalie. No 
one is going to put anything over on that girl.” 


ATAVAR 


227 


‘Well . . . at least you set a fellow up a bit. . . 

Natalie was surrounded by flowers and, I was 
going to say, Gaunt. His arms were draped about 
the back of her chair in a conceited manner of pos¬ 
session. Only society and circumstances kept him 
from crushing her to him. I thought, didn’t he have 
her in his power financially? He could call that 
mortgage any time. Wasn’t she eager to go on his 
boat? He knew it was for treasure to get out of her 
predicament. Even the fortunate Haw trey will had 
now been tied up. It was his yacht she wished to 
use to loose his bonds. If he were determined to 
possess her soul, everything seemed planned for it. 

Gaunt glared at us as we entered. Natalie was 
frankly glad. She jumped up lightly, gave us each 
a hand in that happy, impulsive manner that helped 
make her charm. 

“Oh, Roger! Where have you been? I missed 
you.” I could see, too, that Natalie was watching 
his face with some anxiety. 

“Not in hiding, I hope, Gerard?” Gaunt was sar¬ 
castic, and Natalie did not enjoy it. It seemed to 
make her fearful. 

“Hiding? No. Not even thinking of running 
away. Why, is some one going to start something? 
I’m fit for a fight or a frolic.” Roger turned to 
Natalie and took her arm. “What’s this I hear, 
Natalie, about sailing the seas after pirate gold?’^ 
He tried to be bantering, but his tone was a dismal 
failure at that. “Do you think it wise? ‘Astarte’ is 
going big. You can get more treasure by staying 
right here than you’re ever likely to get out of the 
sea!” 

Natalie laughed at his evident worry. “Pshaw, 


228 ATAVAR 

Roger! I am not going until after 'Astarte’ closes 
... Am ir 

Gaunt did not answer. 

‘What have you got your boat in commission for, 
Gaunt?’’ Roger was cutting. “Going to take a little 
trip by yourself?” 

“I might ask you why you are speeding up on 
Nomad III so that I scarcely hear any other gossip 
than that at the Yacht Club,” replied Gaunt, 
quickly. 

It was a revelation how each was watching the 
other. “Maybe to watch you and—” Roger checked 
himself. 

I happened to glance quietly through the door¬ 
way and saw Kennedy standing there, listening in 
silence. I inferred he wanted to be unrecognized. 

“As to watching, Gerard,” retorted Gaunt, with 
a cold sneer on his face, “I am doing a little of that 
myself. I have been wondering who followed 
Natalie and Hawtrey in that cab, the other night, 
the night of the murder. I have detectives on that. 
What are you coloring about? There’s nothing to 
make you bilious in that, is there?” 

“I’m not afraid of you. Gaunt . . . but I am for 
her.” 

“Roger—this is disgusting. I am not afraid of 
either of you. You make me think of two terriers 
fighting over a bone. I won’t stand it. There, it’s 
the last act, now. I can’t go on. I’m going to let 
my understudy go on for me. She’s ready. Walter, 
take me out—somewhere. . . . Oh, there’s Craig! 
Thank Heaven! Take me away, Craig, before they 
actually come to blows—over nothing. Don’t say 


ATAVAR 229 

^no/ Craig. I want to get away from it all. I’m— 
tired—oh, so tired!” 

Natalie took Craig’s arm and placed her body 
back of his, as if she thought he were a shield for 
all the troubles of the world. 

Kennedy acted on her appeal. The last I heard 
was Gaunt’s booming voice down the corridor as 
Roger was leaving: 

“You bet I am! Why did you disappear that 
same night at the Gilded Lily—eh? I couldn’t see 
you. But I’ll, know where you are hereafter! You 
need watching!” 

At the stage entrance, in the cab, Craig was about 
to direct the driver to Natalie’s apartment. 

“No,” she interrupted, “I’m staying at the Vander- 
more. I can’t go back to that apartment, not to¬ 
night. I didn’t sleep a wink after you left. I’m 
afraid.” 

“But—the paper—” 

“I have it with me. I wouldn’t dare leave it there. 
And I’m afraid to stay there with it. That’s why 
I don’t go back.” 

I could understand it, how, as a result of the 
spooky attempt there, and now with the reappear¬ 
ance of the old Lisle-Carfax feud and suit, Natalie 
realized that she was in danger from the mere pos¬ 
session of the pirate paper. 

Kennedy suggested destroying it, though I felt 
not seriously. 

“Oh! But I won’t give it up!” 

“Then check it in a sealed envelope with the clerk 
at the hotel to keep overnight in the safe. My 
advice to you is to put it in a safety deposit vault in 
one of the big banks and go back to your apartment 


230 A T A V A R 

to-morrow night. It’s a beautiful place. Don’t be 
driven from it.” 

From the desk we sauntered into the now deserted 
writing room. I could see that Natahe had more 
than an ordinary interest in Craig. She needed 
only a little encouragement from him and that in¬ 
terest would flame from a flickering spark. 

‘^Natalie/’ he said, in a tone gently admonishing, 
^Vou had better retire early to-night. Astarte must 
not lose her roses.” 

She regarded him wistfully under long lashes. 
‘^Do you want to leave me so soon, Craig?” she 
murmured, slowly. 

I was startled at her desire to be with him. As 
for Craig, I was afraid, jealous perhaps. 

Natalie stood beside him. wanted to talk to 
you a little. I’ll feel better for it. Do you know, 
I have always envied girls v/ith families—^mother, 
father, many sisters and brothers. If I had them 
and any of those weird night feelings came over me, 
I might bore them, but I could go from one to the 
other, might have managed to get through the 
nights. Now I have only myself.” She lifted her 
eyes to him and they betrayed her real loneliness. 

“Natalie,” Craig paused. “I don’t want to leave 
you. . . . But, my dear girl, you have had a lot of 
perplexing things to meet lately.” He took her 
hand. “And I think enough of you to tear myself 
away. You must have rest. You must go on. . . .” 

Natalie glanced reproachfully at me. I knew 
that nothing would have pleased her better than to 
have Craig tell me to do something for him that 
would have required my presence elsewhere. She 
was a bit disappointed and hurt because he had 


ATAVAR 


231 


not done so. She wanted to be alone with him. 
And I was perverse, jealous enough for him, not to 
make believe I had something elsewhere. 

Craig took her arm and they chatted down the 
corridor to the elevator. Then he bowed to her, 
slowly. I wondered if he, too, wanted to be alone 
with her. He was very quiet. I was alarmed with 
the fear that Natalie had cast her dream spell over 
him. 

I could think of nothing but Kennedy and Natalie, 
the growth of this friendship—until it seemed to 
me that Natalie was daily reaching out more des¬ 
perately for him. Kennedy had given no evidence 
of falling—^but I feared. I knew his science of love 
—that the thinker and doer are attracted by the 
sexual, the butterfly—^nature’s averaging of types. 

But, in my suspicious nature, I feared that there 
was something ulterior about Natalie. Still, I asked, 
why had she saved him the night before when he 
might have plunged into that slimy old well-tarn? 

So far, to me it seemed, Kennedy was ^^sitting in 
the dealer’s chair” in the game. But I was afraid 
of the love game. 

Then rose before me a host of reflections as we 
continued our silent way over to the Drive. 

Gaunt had speeded up in his pursuit of Natalie . 
and at the same time Gerard was pushing fran¬ 
tically to get his new boat ready. I thought over 
the clash of Gaunt and Gerard over Natalie. 

Try as I would I could not repress a sudden re¬ 
vival of suspicion. Could Roger himself have been 
responsible for the murder of Hawtrey? Was Roger 
a throw-back to the ‘'Hangiug Gerard’^ ridding the 


232 ATAVAR 

earth of love pirates as the old judge had rid the sea 
of buccaneers? 

Back of the past of two generations ago stood 
the past of two centuries ago, just as the past of 
two generations ago stood back of the past of two 
days. 

I reflected. Douglas Lisle in 1867 took Corinne 
Carfax away from Hugh Gerard. That had been, 
in a manner of speaking, the revenge of the pirate 
strain upon the ^^Hanging Gerards” with the re¬ 
forming strain. 

Again, with Norman Carfax. Hawtrey had re¬ 
versed the trimming of old Governor Carfax. He 
had taken the girl, this time Dorothy, and the gold, 
this time in the shape of double-crossing Carfax 
in the rum-running game. 

My mind leaped on to Gordon Gaunt, profiteer 
millionaire. Gaunt, descendant of an old seven¬ 
teenth-century buccaneer, was frankly paleolithic. 
Apparently the family had drifted about. Now 
Gaunt had made a fortune out of Mexican oil. 
Here again it was gold and the girl—and Gaunt. 
I thought of Gaunt and the mortgage and the Gaunt 
tradition. To Gordon Gaunt the stock market was 
as the Spanish Main to Captain John Gaunt. 

‘Tt’s mysterious,” I said at last as I found voice 
for my thoughts. ^Threading through the lives of 
these people are the lives and characters of their 
ancestors.” 

^There’s nothing mysterious or mystical about 
it,” replied Kennedy. 'Tn fact, it would be quite 
mysterious and mystical if it were otherwise with 
human life, if each individual made a complete 
fresh start with no impulse from the past, giving 


ATAVAR 


233 


no impetus to the future. There would be no prog¬ 
ress. That fact which seems constantly to amaze 
people is the basis of evolution.^^ 

^‘EvolutionI scorned. ^^Cold science!^’ 

^Ts science cold?^’ asked Craig. ^The science, 
without which life would still be a procession of 
white hearses and black hearses—instead of the 
slow lengthening of hfe’s span by the conquest of 
the white plague, the black plague, the red plague, 
cholera, typhus, smallpox, yellow fever, the curses 
of humanity? . . . Our progress is only by under¬ 
standing ourselves and the world we live in.’^ He 
paused a moment. ^Hust as back of the past of two 
generations stood the past of two centuries, so back 
of that in Natalie's life stands the past of a hun¬ 
dred, a thousand centuries. The rules change— 
but the game remains." 

I thought, especially the greatest of all games, 
the girl game. Here it was again—^gold and the 
girl. 


CHAPTER XII 


PASSION 

It was not very late the next morning when 
Roger presented himself at the laboratory. Roger 
was dour. 

‘WhaPs all the sourness about?^^ asked Craig, 
thinking of the night before and seeking to pass it 
off with a pleasantry. ‘‘You look as if you had lost 
your best friend.” 

“I feel that way. IVe been hearing some dis¬ 
quieting rumors that ‘Astarte’ is to be closed. The 
pulpit, other organizations, some of the newspapers 
and critics, are up in arms against it, of course . . . 
the scandal of Hawtrey’s death . . . the show itself. 
... Now I hear they are going to close it, that 
Gaunt has a big offer for the film rights and is going 
to take it up.” 

The news came indeed as a surprise to me, not of 
the criticism, but of Gaunt’s decision. 

“But you hated the play, secretly, in the first 
place, really, Roger,” interposed Kennedy. “Now 
you fear to have it closed. What’s the idea?” 

“Idea enough! Natalie will be dream-dancing 
again, out there at Lisle Manor.” 

Gerard had evidently sought out Craig to un¬ 
burden his heart. 

“You see,” he continued slowly, measuring his 
234 


ATAVAR 


235 


words, ‘‘IVe come to realize more keenly than ever 
the relation that Gaunt bears to the dream dance 
in the unconscious mind of Natalie. There’s no use 
in my trying to conceal from you my fear. Gaunt 
has taken the place of Hawtrey, usurping my own, 
in Natalie’s unconscious.” 

I passed over the place that Kennedy was assum¬ 
ing. I did see that Roger realized that Natalie 
was falling more deeply under Gaunt’s power. He 
knew it because he had long ago uncovered a deeper 
insight into the secret sprmgs of Natalie’s nature. 
I saw that it was now that he faced the supreme 
test. He had known her dual nature. The first 
step, as he had thought it out, had been to sub¬ 
stitute something that was harmless for the ^^night” 
Natalie. Clearly that one thing was the stage 
career. But in it Roger had not won the ‘^day” 
Natalie. Now the substitute was going in the clos¬ 
ing of the show. The future held more perils. 

Roger said nothing of the night before. But it 
was in his mind. He had cooled down on Gaunt, 
but only outwardly. Once Roger’s philosophy may 
have been, “A free field and no favor,” or ^Het the 
best man win.” Now it was simple, brief, ruthless 
—“win.” 

“Do you know it for a fact?” asked Craig of the 
show. 

“No, I don’t know it. But I just heard it on 
pretty good authority—and I believe it.” 

“I’ll do a little checking up, myself,” remarked 
Craig. “This is important. Let me see. Gaunt is 
usually to be found in the morning at the Export 
& Import Bank, isn’t he, Walter?” 

I nodded. My work for the Star had made me 


236 


ATAVAR 


learn the personal habits and connections of these 
people, so as to be able to reach any of them in¬ 
stantly if necessary. A few moments later we parted 
with Roger. 

Unable to find Gaunt in his usual place at the 
bank, Kennedy sought Wagner, the producer, at 
the theater, in a little office high up in the front of 
the building. 

It was a matter of only a few seconds for us to 
find out that the rumor was true. Scarcely two 
hours before, Wagner had received the brief order 
from Gaunt about the closing of the spectacle. No¬ 
tices were all ready to be posted. Wagner was get¬ 
ting a statement ready for the press. His financial 
man was doping out the money questions, refunds 
and such problems. 

^^Isn^t it a rather unusual thing?’’ inquired Craig, 
quietly. 

Wagner assumed a confidential air. ^Wou know, 
just between us, many plays are produced nowadays 
solely with the idea of a short run, in order to sell 
the motion-picture rights at an enhanced price.” 

^That wasn’t what happened here, though.” 

^^No . . . there are other factors—the criticism— 
the police—” 

^Why don’t you fight?” 

Wagner shrugged. ^'There seems to have been a 
more profitable way out, I suppose.” 

^^It certainly was growing,” I put in. “Ministers 
were denouncing ‘Astarte’ from the pulpit as pagan, 
immoral. Some of the critics in the papers have 
been grossly unfair. The other day I saw there 
was a woman’s organization which a couple of years 
ago agitated for censorship of pictures now pointed 


ATAVAR 


237 


to ’'Astarte' and demanded a censorship of plays as 
the next step toward censorship of books and finally 
of newspapers/' 

Wagner became excited. ^They're giving ‘Astarte' 
free advertising that you couldn't buy for a million 
dollars!" 

‘‘But," considered Kennedy, “if they denounce it 
as a play, what value has it as a picture? They 
already have put over on us censorship on pictures." 

“That's easy," Wagner laughed cynically. “These 
people who are buying it have trained scenario 
writers who know not only how to get things by 
the censors, but to please them, actually make them 
feel good. It's a game. This play has had world¬ 
wide pubhcity. People, some people, think there 
is something raw in it. Well, they'll go to see the 
picture. And the picture will be gorgeous—but as 
tame as a tabby. Oh, they can denaturize anything, 
reduce the kick in it to one-tenth of one per cent. 
That's the game now." 

“But that's obtaining money under false pre¬ 
tenses from the public." 

“Maybe it is. But that is your modern moral 
hypocrisy since you interred Magna Charta and 
the Bill of Rights." 

Kennedy considered thoughtfully a moment. 
“Yes, we are headed in a certain direction in our 
thinking and our lawmaking. It's time we paused 
for a moment, looked around, saw where we are 
rushing so headlong, away from liberty." 

“Liberty!" Wagner uttered. “Liberty is a de¬ 
caying goddess. Mussolini said that." He was 
fumbling among some papers on his desk. 

“Lenine started it." 


238 


ATAVAR 


‘^And America makes its own queer contribution! 
To tell you the truth, Kennedy, I believe— Oh, 
here it is, a copy of that review, Gerarchia, which 
was sent to me from the other side. Listen to this 
about Mussohni: ‘Men nowadays are tired of lib¬ 
erty.^ And this: ‘Both in Russia and in Italy it has 
been demonstrated that it is possible to govern out¬ 
side, above and against all liberal ideas.’ And 
there’s worse coming: ‘Liberty is no longer a chaste, 
severe maiden for whom generations in the first 
half of the last century fought and died. For the 
intrepid, restless youths who are now in the dawn 
of a new history other words exercise a greater fas¬ 
cination, namely, order, hierarchy, and discipline.’ 
Here’s the worst, ‘We are not afraid to declare our¬ 
selves illiberal or anti-liberal. We have already 
passed and, if necessary, will again pass without the 
shghtest hesitation over the body, more or less de¬ 
composed, of the Goddess of Liberty.’ Oh yes, 
America is making its own queer little contribution 
to anti-liberty. To tell you the truth, Kennedy, I 
begin to beheve that the only place where there is 
liberty is where it was bom!” 

“Our ancestors left that place—for liberty.” 

“Well—^you can go back and get it, eh?” ♦ 

I thought what a strange reversal of affairs—^for 
us to be instructed in liberty by a man with the 
Germanic name of Wagner. 

There was no denying, however, that the scandal 
of the Hawtrey murder, followed by the raid of 
the Pirates’ Cave, had created a popular furore. 
The press and the pulpit on “Astarte” had given 
Gaunt any excuse he wanted. 

I began to see that, more than vaguely. Gaunt had 


ATAVAR 


239 


sensed what Roger already knew. He seemed to 
realize that if he were to win Natalie he must act. 
He was aiming at Roger. But did he realize the 
part Kennedy was taking in the girl’s love devel¬ 
opment? 

At any rate, Gaunt had made up his mind. “As- 
tarte” must close. Instinctively he had recognized 
that this outlet for Natalie’s ^^night” nature must be 
shut off. With the show closed, then with Natalie 
back at Lisle Manor, with this outlet for her Stone- 
Age nature denied her, he might literally spiritually 
starve her into submission. Then, too, there was 
the mortgage. That might prove a boomerang— 
imless he handled it as only men of his type can do. 

^^Astarte” must close. The furore of criticism 
was an excuse. But the loss? The offer of two 
hundred and fifty thousand dollars for the motion- 
picture rights would reimburse him with a hand¬ 
some profit. Wagner informed us that Gaunt had 
decided on it in a conference late last night, had 
signed the contract this morning. Brilliant success 
though it was, ^^Astarte” was closed, closed by or¬ 
ders of the ^^angel,” Gaunt, to Wagner. 

“But what of Natalie?” asked Craig. “Is she—” 

“I believe the picture producer wants her to play 
in the production, with the original cast, even the 
scenery and all that.” 

“It means a sudden change in the life of aU these 
people,” I observed in front of the theater, where 
they were already taking down the lights in the 
electric sign with Natalie’s name. 

“Yes; let us see Natalie.” 

Craig called the Vandermore. Natalie had 


240 ATAVAR 

checked out early and had gone back to her 
apartment. 

^^Good morning, Craig. Oh, I^m so glad to see 
you. Come right in.^^ Natalie greeted us at the 
door. Inside, two maids and a man were packing 
trunks and boxes. “Isn’t the news dreadful? Think 
of closing ^Astarte,’ now! There was nothing wrong 
with that spectacle. I could, almost cry over it. 
I did, last night at the hotel, when Mr. Gaunt 
called me up. The news has made me ill. Talk about 
salacious plays—it’s the salacious viewpoint of our 
supposed clean-minded censors! People looking for 
evil always find it. They color ordinary acts and 
normal people with paints of their own slime!” 
Natahe’s cheeks were pink; her eyes flashed. She 
was ready to battle with the most reverend of cen¬ 
sors. “Oh, I am all out of breath!” she finished, 
trying to smile. 

“You are a pretty crusader,” I remarked, looking 
about. “What are you doing—moving?” 

“Yes, Walter. I hate—I fear this apartment since 
the other night. Now that ^Astarte’ has closed, 
I am going back to Lisle Manor. I am tired of the 
city. I want to get out where I feel free. At least 
they can’t stop me dancing in my own home and 
on my own grounds!” she added, belligerently. 

“I hate to see you packing up, Natalie,” re¬ 
marked Craig, earnestly. “It means that the bright¬ 
est star here has gone out. We’ll miss you.” 

“Will you, Craig?” She asked it quickly, her face 
suddenly lighting up. Then she paused, went back 
to her packing. “Why don’t you come out and 
see me? I expect to go about noon, as soon as I’m 
through here. . . . I’ll look for you.” 


ATAVAR 241 

‘‘I will. Are you going out alone, with the 
servants 

^‘No. . . . This is funny. Poor old dad wouldn’t 
tolerate it if he were alive. But Fay Blythe is 
going out with me.” 

“Fay Blythe? Why Fay, of all people? She is 
not your sort, Natalie.” Craig was admonishing. 

“I know all that. But the girl is broke, dead 
broke. She told me yesterday she had bought so 
many things, spent several weeks unearned salary, 
pledged it. Now they have stopped the show and 
I knew she’d be in an awful hole. So I called her 
up. She was so sure of a long run for ^Astarte.’ 
These old-lady censors!” Craig was frowning at 
the thought of Fay. “Needn’t worry, Craig, about 
me. It isn’t friendship for Fay—nothing but the 
camaraderie of the stage. You know Guy Hawtrey 
is dead, and he used to take care of her in a time 
like this. Now she has no one. I felt sorry for 
her. But most of all for my own loneliness.” 

I thought of Norman Carfax and his interest in 
Fay. I wondered what Fay was putting over. Could 
she be working for him against Natahe? 

My thoughts were suddenly interrupted by some 
one at the door. “Natalie! I couldn’t help but 
come up and see you when I heard you were going 
away.” It was Roger Gerard. “It’s a lot of fool¬ 
ishness to close ^Astarte.’ I’m really so sorry!” 

Her flash of anger at Roger the night before was 
forgotten and she greeted him warmly. “I knew 
you would be, Roger. You see, I had been feeling 
mighty independent these days—and it’s hard to 
lose that independence.” 

“Well, my dear girl, if anything happens to worry 


242 


ATAVAR 


you in the future, I'm the one old friend you can 
always count on." Roger let his generous longing 
for her shine from his eyes. ^‘Don't forget!" 

Natalie colored and changed the subject quickly. 
‘‘I must hurry if I am to leave here by noon." 

''Natalie," pursued Roger. "I am going out to 
the country, too." She said nothing. "I'll have to 
stay at Ravenhall Farms. Sometimes I wish we 
had not sold the old place to Hawtrey." 

"Oh, Craig, there is where you and Walter can 
stay, when you come up. It's famous, one of the 
finest country hotels anywhere. Tell Craig about 
it, Roger, and coax him out. It's going to be dull 
out there for me. I have been so busy here." She 
sighed wistfully for the excitement of rehearsals and 
performances. 

Perhaps twenty minutes later we left Roger there 
with Natalie. Even before we left the grilled glass 
door of the apartment I glanced across and down 
the street, and as I did so Craig nudged me and 
whispered to look the other way. "Walter—there's 
Dunphy in that cab. I wonder why he is hanging 
about? Watching Roger and Natalie?" 

I thought of the remark of Wagner of the police 
fomenting the critics of the show. "Do you sup¬ 
pose there was anything about his statements to 
the papers, as Wagner said?" 

Kennedy pursed his lips. "He might have had a 
purpose in it. A change of relations, a general 
shifting about from the closing of the show, might 
make some one reveal something." 

We ostentatiously did not see Dunphy, and finally, 
when we reached the laboratory, Kennedy remarked: 
"Walter, there seems to be a general exodus to the 


ATAVAR 


243 


country. We are going, too. The whole crowd will 
stand watching, just as they seem to be watching 
one another. It seems that what one knows, they 
all know, even Natalie. I’m going to call up Leslie 
and tell him, try to get him out to Ravenhall Farms 
with us.” 

But Leslie was on a case, had an autopsy, and 
could not join us. He promised to meet us there 
that night, late, however. 

It was in the late afternoon when Craig’s deep- 
lunged little car drew up at Ravenhall Farms, the 
fashionable suburban hotel. At the desk where 
he was registering Craig pulled my sleeve. ^^Norman 
Carfax is here.” He pointed on the register. 

I thought. Fay was with Natalie. Consequently, 
Carfax had followed Fay. 

We turned from the desk only to encounter Roger 
coming down the lobby from the motor entrance. 

‘T’ve been driving about the old country a couple 
of hours,” he explained. ‘They tell me Gaunt is 
back on his estate. What do you think? He has 
Inger Dean there, as housekeeper.” He nodded to 
the boy to take his bags up to the room. 

Craig suggested that it might be a pleasant sur¬ 
prise to motor over to Lisle Manor. 

‘T wonder if Natalie can stand seeing us more 
than once a day,” I broke in. 

“The way I feel about it at present,” returned 
Roger, “is that I’m out to win her. She will have 
to see me many days, all day. I’m tired of dilly¬ 
dallying around.” 

“Use your rival’s methods and beat him at his 
own game,” I smiled. “Take Craig’s motto: Repeti¬ 
tion is reputation.” 


244 


ATAVAR 


As the car stopped before the stately old mansion, 
I wondered at Natalie's desire ever to leave it. 
Built of stone, years ago, the weathering of the 
stone made the many freshly painted porches and 
windows shine with an intensified whiteness. 

I heard a voice. ^^Roger! Roger! I’m over here!” 

Gerard turned to us. ^^She thinks I’ve come 
alone. Give her a surprise.” 

We crossed to a sheltered corner of the porch. 
Natalie, in her simple white dress, looked like a 
child who plays alone in a nursery full of toys, but 
no playmates. About her here was everything to 
amuse her—^books, music, her spirited young mare 
in the stable, her dogs, a wonderful estate on which 
to roam. But already one could see she was morbid 
and restless. 

“Well—this is a surprise!” She turned gleefully to 
us from Roger. “When did you decide to come 
up?” 

“After hearing other people talk about coming 
out to the country for a rest. It gave us the fever.” 

Natalie smiled at Craig. “I wonder if that is 
your real reason!” Then she turned to Roger and 
devoted all her attention to him. Roger was in 
about six out of seven possible heavens. 

“Where’s Fay?” I inquired. 

“Asleep! She is very entertaining, you see. I 
was bored to death, already, when you people ar¬ 
rived. I would have taken a try-out on Petty. But 
the groom tells me she isn’t just right—a saddle 
sore—wouldn’t heal.” 

Roger frowned, and I knew Petty must be the 
mare that Hawtrey had given her. 

“What a wonderful place in which to entertain!” 


AT A VAR 245 

admired Craig. ^^You ought to be able to get enough 
congenial people here.” 

^T have them, now. . . . But I don^t want to 
entertain. I want to be entertained.” Animation 
had kindled again in her the instant she had seen 
us. wonder how a little informal dance to-night 
would go? We’d be short a girl, but we could divvy 
up the dances.” She executed an intricate step at 
the prospect. ^Will you stay?” 

The loud tooting of a horn up the driveway in¬ 
terrupted the answer. 

“Gaunt!” muttered Roger, viciously, under his 
breath. 

Gaunt was quite pleased at interrupting a party 
that had beaten him to the first call on Natalie. 

“Oh, Gordon, come over to a little dance to-night. 
I was dying of ennui when they rescued me!” 

Gaunt seemed to disregard us. He had eyes only 
for Natalie. “I have something even better to pro¬ 
pose, I think. I have arranged it, all for you, 
Natalie. Wagner is here, all the principals of the 
cast. I brought them up. I’m giving a dance, to 
celebrate the successful sale of the show to the pic¬ 
ture company, and it is all to be in your honor, 
Natalie—the future star of Astarte,’ the picture.” 

“Really, Gordon? Really?” Her eyes glowed. 
She took his hand and skipped about like a child. 
“I have always wanted to be in a big picture!” 

“Where’s Fay? I have some news for her, too.” 

“Taking her beauty sleep,” I answered. 

“What do you mean, beauty sleep? Here I am. 
Your horns make more noise in the country than 
the fire engines on Broadway. Sleep! Then when 
I knew there were men around I came down.” 


246 


ATAVAR 


‘'None of my guests are hypocrites/^ laughed 
Natalie. “She wouldn’t come down for me, the 
hostess. But men, that’s different. I suppose if 
you were passing away with sleeping sickness, all 
I’d have to do would be to send a man up on the 
tray.” 

“I know the man,” suggested Gaunt. “He’s down 
at Ravenhall.” 

Fay lolled in a wicker chaise longue, a pretty 
picture of assumed fatigue. “What man? There are 
so many men!” 

“Norman Carfax,” answered Gaunt, and I thought 
Natalie was more startled at the news than Fay 
was surprised. “I’ve asked him over to-night to the 
dance. Bring your own little party, Natalie. I’ve 
got a new car. I’ll call —” 

“Now wait. Gaunt. That’s hardly fair. I’m here 
and—” 

Natalie showed the same look of fear that she 
showed at all of Roger’s altercations. Roger was 
only too evidently holding himself down when she 
interrupted. “Craig is indispensable. So there’ll 
be no hard feelings. I’ll go with you, Craig.” 

Gaunt was only a shade less angry than if it had 
been Roger. “All right. The woman decides. I 
have much to do before the dance. I must be on 
my way.” With a wave of his cap to Natalie he 
was off. 

“Isn’t that bully?” smoothed over Natalie at 
Roger’s glumness. “A party, and we’re all going!” 

“Some people have all the luck,” laughed Fay. 

“Well—Norman will be there,” retorted Natalie. 

“I’ll be over in good time, Natalie.” Kennedy 
was moving to leave. 


ATAVAR 


247 


Roger also broke himself away, in better spirits, 
now. We drove over to Ravenhall for dinner and 
to dress. 

In a quiet corner of the splendid dining hall I 
caught sight of the face of a woman, all alone. 

“Dorothy Carfax! Ill be blowed!” 

“And Fay^s already had her bath to-day,^^ smiled 
Craig. 

It was a wonderful night for a dance, clear and 
cloudless, with the promise of a beautiful moon 
about midnight, the kind of night that consummates 
romance. 

Fay and Natalie were waiting in the living room 
of the Manor. Fay^s gown was beautiful, but bi¬ 
zarre. The lower half of the skirt was glistening 
white ermine. The bodice, consisting of a front and 
belt of rainbow-hued chiffon, was held to her dainty 
form by pearl beads. Panels of flying chiffon, at 
the end of each a yellow rose, trailed about her, 
while the chiffon made up the rest of the skirt. 
With her coronet of yeUow roses she was beautiful. 

But Natalie took my breath—a vision in pink. 
All I can remember about that gown was roses, 
pink roses. They were everywhere. And under 
the roses was a supple satin, the same shade of pink, 
which showed every hne of her beautiful body as 
the strands of roses parted with her motions. On 
her feet were sandals, pink satin, and about her 
head was a wreath of cool green rose leaves. Her 
cheeks were as pink as her gown and she wore her 
hair in curls. 

The girls came forward to greet us, or rather 
Natalie floated toward us. 

“You^re the most beautiful vision I ever saw, 


248 


ATAVAR 


Natalie/^ It came from me impulsively and its 
spontaneity let it pass unchided by her. 

“I am glad you like my gown. But look at Fay!’’ 

I worried over Craig. He seemed to be drinking 
in Natalie’s wonderful beauty. He seemed charmed. 

Wraps were thrown over shoulders quickly and 
we were speeding over the fine roads toward Gaunt’s 
estate. 

The house itself was comparatively new—a huge 
brick mansion with many white pillars. As we drove 
slowly up to the entrance it seemed like a gorgeous 
stage setting. Lights gleamed from the windows, 
soft music from a string orchestra filtered out on the 
air. The distant murmur of voices, laughter, pleas¬ 
antries, the splendid grounds terraced before the 
porches, made a fairyland scene. 

^^Roger will have to go some if he can ever dupli¬ 
cate this,” I murmured to Craig as he put the car 
up to join the girls. 

“Roger could do it—and better. He has years 
of breeding and good taste back of him. Gaunt 
is as Hawtrey was—raw.” 

Fay ran to one of the windows and peeped in. 
“I see Norman—and Roger, already. They seem 
to be on pretty good terms again. Oh, there’s Wag¬ 
ner! I want a word with him. He has to get me 
another job. A girl must live.” It was rather amus¬ 
ing to hear Fay chatter about starvation, dressed in 
ermine. Inconsistency is the life of the show girl. 

Gaunt was waiting for Natalie in the big wide 
hall. He came forward rapidly and took both her 
hands in his. “I didn’t wait even to have wraps 
removed—my dear,” he whispered to her, as she 
acknowledged the effusive greeting gracefully. 


ATAVAR 


249 


She turned quickly to go up the flight of steps 
to a dressing room for the ladies, when one of her 
flowing strands of roses became entangled and ripped 
off quickly. 

‘^Oh, Gordon, see what happened she cried, 
impatiently. 

^'Never mind, Natalie. I’ll send some one up to 
help you immediately.” 

Natalie ran lightly up the stairs. Gaunt touched 
a bell pull and Inger answered the summons. “Inger, 
Miss Lisle needs your assistance right away. She 
tore her gown on something.” He turned and dis¬ 
missed the matter as if it were already done. 

Inger stood a moment, white and deflant. I re¬ 
called what she had said about Natahe when we 
had interviewed her in Brooklyn about the revolver. 

^^Mr. Gaunt—I’d rather not.” 

Gaunt turned abruptly from us, surprise and anger 
visible on his face. ^^Rather not? Why?” He was 
curt. 

“Oh, Mr. Gaunt, must I tell? Can’t you see 
why?” Inger was almost pleading. “Anybody else!” 

“No, I can’t see why any servant of mine refuses 
to assist one of my guests, especially when that 
guest happens to be the honor guest of the evening. 
Go up and help Miss Lisle, right away.” 

“Shows how much you know about women!” Inger 
muttered under her breath. “Guy Hawtrey made 
me wait on her at the theater. I did it to keep a 
little bit of his—” 

“Inger! If you leave here—” Gaunt left the sen¬ 
tence unflnished. 

Inger turned bitterly up the stairs. 

At the first strains of the waltz, Natalie and Fay 




250 


ATAVAR 


came hurriedly down the steps. Natalie’s gown 
had been repaired deftly and Inger now stood at 
the top of the flight. Norman Carfax claimed Fay. 
Gaunt held out his hand toward Natalie, then faced 
us. 

^^Surely no one will object if the host asks for the 
first dance with the honor guest? May I—Astarte?” 

Not to have given it would have been embarrass¬ 
ing to Natalie. If Roger had insisted upon having 
it, it would have seemed boorish. It was one of 
those perverse disappointments in life. 

Natalie gave Roger a fleeting glance of sympathy 
and apprehension as she saw him turn suddenly and 
leave the hall. Gaunt grinned, amused. I saw 
Wagner introducing Craig to some of the other girls. 
Craig could not get away, but a look from him told 
me to watch Roger. 

I followed Roger out slowly. He lighted a cig¬ 
arette and paced up and down nervously, puffing 
it furiously; on the terrace. Suddenly he stopped, 
then walked slowly toward a dimmer, unlighted end 
of the terrace, by a group of evergreens. I went 
along, too, careful to keep in the shadows. As I 
came up behind the evergreens I heard a woman 
sobbing. 

Then I heard Roger’s voice. ‘Ts that you, Inger? 
I’m sorry for you, Inger. I heard it all. I know 
how you feel. I know what it is to have your heart 
—trampled on!” 

Inger’s voice broke between sobs. ^^Mr. Gerard— 
God bless you—you are the only man who has 
showed me a bit of sympathy since Guy Hawtrey 
was killed. I hate her—and you love her—but— 
God bless you!” 


ATAVAR 251 

“You mustn't hate her, Inger. It isn't her fault, 
what others do. . . 

Some couple came walking down the terrace. 
Inger exclaimed: “I'm too near the house. Good 
night, Mr. Gerard—and God bless you!" 

I had only time to shrink into the shadows, my¬ 
self, as she burst through the shrubbery into a little 
grove. Roger slowly returned toward the house. 

Roger lost no time in claiming Natalie for a suc¬ 
ceeding dance, and this time there could be no valid 
way of interference. When Gaunt saw him step¬ 
ping away with Natalie, he, too, decided to take the 
air on the terrace. It is not much pleasure to see the 
girl you love in the arms of the man you hate. 
Gaunt swore under his breath as he turned down a 
little walk that ran under the windows of the ball¬ 
room. He was startled to see a woman peering in 
at the dancers. 

“Anything I can do for you?" 

Following, I was as surprised as Gaunt to see the 
face of Dorothy Carfax, unbidden guest, watching. 

“Watching Norman?" he asked, then added, sar¬ 
castically, “Or waiting a chance to steal your old 
letters to Guy Hawtrey?" 

“I'm not trying to steal anything, Gordon Gaunt, 
and you know it. I’m watching a two-faced huzzy 
in there with my husband." 

“Rather particular since Hawtrey was killed," he 
goaded. 

“What's it to you? Norman Carfax is my hus¬ 
band. I'm going in, if I see much more, have it out 
with that snake in the grass. Fay Blythe." 

“No—wait! Don't do that! I have a better 
plan." Gaunt spoke insistently, almost placatingly. 


252 


ATAVAR 


Dorothy halted. ^^You—a better plan? Ill bet 
I am the goat. I should trust any—’’ 

“Can’t I make a bargain with you?” 

“On one condition—only. Give me back those 
letters/’ snapped Dorothy. 

“I’ll do that. Listen. I have Carfax here for 
a purpose. I am putting something over. You re¬ 
member the disagreement between Hawtrey and 
your husband? Hawtrey was double-crossing Nor¬ 
man and he was getting away with it.” Dorothy 
nodded and he went on rapidly. “Well, Carfax was 
fighting for his interest, his rights in the profit from 
a shipment of liquor they had stored in a warehouse 
down at Sea Isle.” 

“Yes, I know. What they found in the theater 
cellar was only a drop in the bucket.” 

“You might know also that I secured the financing 
of that deal, through the bank. My position makes 
it possible for me to see that the right thing is don© 
by Carfax—in other words, see that he gets his share 
without the legal fight he expects.” 

“Well, what good will his success do me?” She 
was bitter. “I am not going to help him.” 

“Wait. /You ask what good to you? If he gets 
his money, you get a nice slice of it as alimony, in 
settlement, see? Besides, you have Hawtrey’s let¬ 
ters back. How can he fight the case, then?” 

“Y-yes. . . . What do you want of me—besides 
leaving them here alone to-night?” She was sus¬ 
picious, but wavering. 

“Watch Fay and Norman for me. An outraged 
wife makes a good detective—if she keeps her 
temper.” 


ATAVAR 253 

'^What are you going to get out of it? I want 
to know everything before I go into it.” 

“Just this. He must relinquish to me his fifth 
interest in the sunken treasure that Natalie Lisle is 
going to search for in my yacht, with divers that I 
suppose I shall have to furnish.” Gaunt spoke with 
disarming frankness. 

“All right! Ill give Fay the floor—to-night. 
Those letters by midnight. I’ll be at the Ravenhall, 
waiting.” 

“I’ll send them by a servant. You’ll have them 
in an hour. Good night.” 

Dorothy vanished in the gloom of the shrubbery. 
A moment later Gaunt passed me, wiping his brow 
and muttering. “A regular hell cat!” 

Gaunt claimed Natalie for the next two or three 
dances, then during an intermission he led her away 
from the rest into the conservatory. It was ex¬ 
pecting just this that had impelled Roger to ask me 
to accompany him there, I suspect, during the last 
dance. 

We could hear Gaunt displaying a prize orchid he 
had obtained only recently from the Amazon. 

“Oh, Gordon—it’s a beauty—the most exquisite 
I ever saw.” Natalie bent over the beautiful blos¬ 
som with the rapture of a connoisseur. 

“It’s for you, my dear—something to help out a 
little the disappointment of the closing of 'Astarte.’ ” 

“Gordon—you will spoil me. It cost too much 
to give away.” 

Roger could stand it no longer. He could not let 
the tete-a-tete go further. He emerged from be¬ 
hind some palms. “What are you doing, Natalie? 
Trying to make the flowers jealous?” 


254 


ATAVAR 


It did not bother Natalie, but Gaunt was boiling 
over. ^^Another job for you, Roger. You can paint 
this new orchid, a five-thousand-dollar one, this 
time. IVe just given it to Natalie. Orchids, it 
seems, are your specialties.” 

It was not the words, it was the taunt in the tone 
in which they were spoken, that angered Roger. It 
took him a full minute to determine how to fight 
back, and he did it by changing the topic. 

^‘Natalie,” he asked, lowering his voice earnestly, 
‘Von’t you reconsider this treasure hunt?” 

Gaunt stiffened with anger, Natalie looked at 
Gerard a moment. ‘'But, Roger, I have set my 
heart on it.” 

“Well, then if you must go, take my boat. It is 
a new boat, speedier, more comfortable than the 
Bacchante. 1 will present it to you for your use— 
alone.” He dwelt on the last word. 

It was more than Gaunt could stand. ‘‘Say, 
Gerard, how do you get that way. The Bacchante 
is ready, any time. It happens to be down in Bar- 
negat now, waiting orders. Your Nomady or Monad, 
or whatever it is, is in the yards at Camden yet. 
And of course the Bacchante is Natalie^s—alone” 
—^he also dwelt on the word, adding—“and ready.” 

“Ready, too. Gaunt,” shot back Roger. “I got 
word this morning I could have my third boat any 
time now. Natalie—you must reconsider.” 

Gaunt turned to her. “You promised me, Natalie, 
and I got it into commission—for you.” 

Natalie was in a quandary. “There—Roger. Don’t 
you see—what a position you are putting me in?” 

The tilt between Gaunt and Gerard was inter¬ 
rupted by the entrance of Kennedy, much to 


ATAVAR 


255 


Natalie’s relief. He carried her off to the dance 
floor. Gaunt sulked back into the room where the 
buffet was. Roger forgot me and strode out. As iot 
me, I peered through the glass of the conservatory, 
wondering what would be the result of this latest 
tilt. I checked myself as I saw a face through the 
glass just in time not to betray that I had seen it. 
There was Dunphy, spying. Dunphy had just 
quietly moved out there and was watching them 
all on his own. 

It was not without other instances of friction that 
the evening proceeded, but these were the most sig¬ 
nificant that came to my notice. Long after mid¬ 
night it was before the party began to break up. 

By this time there was a splendid moon, nearly 
full. Out under it, on the driveway, the same fric¬ 
tion developed over taking Natalie home that had 
arisen over bringing her. 

Natahe settled it herself. ‘^What a night for a 
moonlight marathon!” she trilled, floating, swaying 
a few steps in her evening coat over her dainty 
draperies. think Ill take your car, Craig, and 
drive alone with Fay. . . . Come for it in the 
morning!” 

She climbed in, started the motor, and almost 
before we realized it, was off, with Fay. 

For some moments Kennedy stood watching her. 
I knew what was passing in his mind. ^^What a 
night for a moonlight marathon!” It was a strange 
remark. What did it mean? Natalie was insisting 
now on her own way. And that way meant resum¬ 
ing her dream dancing over the meadows and 
through the forests. I glanced at Roger. Roger 
seemed in a quandary himself. It was not that he 


256 


ATAVAR 


opposed even the dream dancing, now. It was solely 
fear for her safety—knowing the nearness of Gaunt. 

Kennedy was determined to get Carfax out of the 
way. With him, Craig and I crowded into Roger’s 
car, drove back to Ravenhall, and Carfax went to 
his room. 

Roger had gone to put up the car. But, as we 
waited for the arrival of the last train with Leslie, 
Roger did not come back. I saw Kennedy getting 
more anxious. 

^^Stay and meet Leslie, Walter,” he muttered, 
finally. ^‘I’m going to see what’s become of him.” 

None of us saw, but now I can picture Natalie 
arriving home that night, far after midnight. 

Preoccupied, she left Fay downstairs to amuse 
herself with another cocktail before retiring. In her 
own room Natahe stood before the long mirror built 
in the wall and surveyed herself. She could almost 
see Gaunt and Roger behind her, the conflict* of their 
passions for her in their faces. Imagination, but it 
was vivid. 

She went to the window and flung it open. The 
moon was shining an invitation. Swept over her the 
recollection of the night in this very room, not many 
years ago in her girlhood, the night of the phantasy 
after the meeting of Hawtrey. 

She tried to throw off the fascination. The ‘'day” 
Natalie was striving to keep the ascendancy. But 
the moon gleams were irresistible. The shadows of 
the trees beckoned. The open fields beckoned. 
Nature beckoned, luring her to her bosom. The 
sweet, heavy odors of the night were weaving about 
her yielding senses the last seductive trap. The 
“night” Natalie swept over her. 


ATAVAR 


257 


She threw a kiss along the moon path, then sprang 
in the air, intoxicated by the spirit. ‘Wait! . . . 
ril come! I’ll come! ” She flung out wide her arms. 

Tossing off her gown, Natalie donned a white silk- 
crepe drapery that hung about her in loose folds 
and panels that gave ample freedom for wild, ex¬ 
haustive dancing. Another pair of sandals. Bare, 
pink toes peeped audaciously at her. 

She opened the door of her room and listened. 
By this time she could hear Fay moving about in 
her room down the hall. No one else was visible. 
She stepped lightly, with that soft, trained step, 
down the stairs, opened a window in the hall, 
vaulted lightly through it. A few leaps brought her 
to the moon path. 

With face uplifted, hands raised in joy, balanced 
on the tip of one toe, the other leg extended grace¬ 
fully behind her, she must have seemed like a 
nymph, nothing human. 

Then with a little cry of joy, she was off. Dip¬ 
ping down in delightful curves, only to dance lightly 
with great bounds in the air, she seemed scarcely to 
touch the earth. She danced well on the stage. But 
nothing like this. Now, with each touch of Mother 
Earth, it seemed as if new force, new feeling, new 
impulses were transferred to her. She was a fairy 
in fairyland, a filmy, flitting shadow that sped over 
lawn to forest. 

Craig had been right in his surmise. Roger had 
left his car, was watching in the shadows. 

Roger started after the flitting figure in white. 
At that moment, suddenly, from the shadows, he 
was confronted by another figure, in black. Roger 
had been unmindful of Gaunt, also watching, not 


258 AT A VAR 

many yards away in the shrubbery screened from 
the moonbeams. 

Scarcely a word was spoken. Each knew it was a 
physical crisis. 

It was a terrific battle of man to man, stripped of 
all the veneer of civilization. Roger was no physical 
weakling. Indeed, he seemed endowed with power 
even more than he was accustomed, the power he 
once felt in a championship game at the university, 
when as fullback he had gone in with the team, 
beaten on paper, to win, by the slashing attack of 
Gerard. 

Momentarily the battle was swinging in his favor 
when Gaunt, with the inherent desire to win at any 
cost, in any manner, fumbled with something en¬ 
tangled in his pocket, just as Roger got him by a 
strangling hold. . . . 

Cut and bleeding, Roger lay as dead. Gaunt 
sprang up, darted into the forest after Natalie. . . . 

As Roger had watched Natalie, he had not been 
aware that still another was watching. It was 
Inger. 

Slowly the shrubbery parted and the moonlight 
revealed her startled face. 

There had been just that trifling kind word and 
action by Roger to the woman. Others had scorned 
and thrust her down to a ruined hfe. This man had 
seemed human. It was the first kindliness that had 
penetrated Inger’s heart for years. 

Reassured that Gaunt was gone, she glided across 
the open space and bent over Roger. He was not 
dead. As she wiped his face and tried to bind up an 
ugly row of gashes on his head, he muttered, in his 


AT A VAR 259 

daze, ‘^Kennedy! Kennedy! ... At Ravenhall!^^ 
Then his voice trailed off. 

It was to me that Inger's agonized call to Kennedy 
came. Kennedy had not returned. But Leshe had 
arrived. It was not many seconds before we were 
on our way to Roger, sorely wounded. 

Roger was still httle more than half conscious as 
Leslie cared for him. Down the road I thought I 
saw a car in the shadows, Roger’s car. I came upon 
another. It must have been the one Kennedy had 
commandeered from the hotel garage. 

I heard a noise. On the qui vive, nevertheless, I 
called. ‘^Craig!” 

‘‘Yes—Walter? . . . What are you doing here?” 

“Roger. . . . Did you see herf Is she—dream 
dancing again?” 

He turned down the road with me toward Roger 
and Leslie and Inger. 

“Yes. ... I had almost despaired, Walter, about 
meeting her. I climbed more hills, waded through 
more ditches, poked my way through more strange 
woodland than a camper. ... At last I saw her.” 

“Where is she now?” 

With a sweep of his hand toward the woods he 
merely muttered, “Out there, somewhere.” 

“Wouldn’t she come with you?” 

He shook his head. “I had just come to a clear¬ 
ing, a great meadow. On the other side was a lake, 
and about one side of the lake a deep stretch of 
forest. I saw something move suddenly in the field. 
It was Natalie—in one of the most spirited dances 
I ever saw. She must be untiring. For an instant 
her white draperies held me. 

“Then I called, ‘Natalie!’ I made a megaphone 


260 


ATAVAR 


of my hands and the sound carried in the still night 
air. She paused a moment in her mad dancing. I 
called again, ^Natalie 

''She stood perfectly still, listening. I thought 
she was waiting for me, had recognized my call. I 
advanced in her direction. I must have been about 
halfway to her when I heard her herself make a 
strange, uncanny cry. It encouraged me. I hur¬ 
ried on. 

^Walter,’’ Craig paused, then went on in a low¬ 
ered tone as of one who has seen a vision, ^‘1 saw a 
dark form emerge, from the forest, back of her. 
There was a cry precisely like the first that Natalie 
gave. It was an answer. I almost stopped, shocked 
and frightened for the girFs safety. ... It was a 
huge stag! 

'Come, Bugler—come to me!’ Actually, that 
stag came to her—and another. She called, 'Light- 
foot!’ There were a doe and two fauns. More 
came—I should say, about eight. Natalie seemed 
on the best of terms with them. 

"Then I realized the girl’s danger in that herd of 
deer. I felt that I must try to get to her, must get 
her away. It all happened quicker than I can tell 
it, Walter, the most amazing experience I ever had. 
I started forward and trod on a rotten twig. It 
made a noise, just enough. The deer bounded into 
the darkness of the forest from which they had 
come, all but Bugler. He gave another cry as he 
hesitated, ears and antlers erect, then stood per¬ 
fectly still beside Natalie. Natalie gave a leap, on 
his back, and they were off, in perfect silence. I 
could not hear a sound. They went through the 
woods as quickly and more quietly than a breeze. 


ATAVAR 


261 


Actually, I thought I was seeing visions, apparitions. 
I have been trying to find some trace of them ever 
since, but I can’t. I thought I would take the car, 
see if there is a road that leads to the other side of 
that woodland. Walter, I might keep up with a 
criminal, but I haven’t the speed of a deer!” 

We had come to Roger as he told of encountering 
Natalie in the moon dance and how she had eluded 
him. Kennedy helped Leslie care for Roger. I saw 
him in a growing dilemma—on the one hand his 
friend, Roger; on the other the girl. 

^‘We must get him to the hotel now, and to bed. 
He will be all right.” Leslie spoke confidently. 

“But I can’t leave her this way—to roam!” 

“But, Kennedy,” urged Leslie, “if it is like sleep¬ 
walking perhaps it was a providence you did not 
waken her. It might have had disastrous results to 
the mind.” 

“She always returned safely before,” I put in. 
“She’s safe enough now. If you couldn’t catch her, 
no one can—with Bugler. Remember Mowgli, 
Craig? She’s a girl-Mowgli, grown up, this ^night’ 
Natalie!” I thought I had him wavering. “If she 
is Gel in that Stone Age dream of hers, it’s not you, 
Dag, let us say, she needs—here—now. She needs 
the modem Dag to save her from these modem 
paleolithic men—in the daytime! . . . And Roger 
needs you—^more!” 

Still he felt the fear for Natalie, with Gaunt 
striding the country in the moon shadows, his own 
estate, Hawtrey’s, the Lisle estate, in his unleashed 
passion in search of Natalie. 




Part IV 






CHAPTER XIII 


FLIGHT 

Craig was frankly worried in the morning. He 
was up early. Roger seemed much better already; 
healing was indeed Leslie's art. Finally Craig could 
stand it no longer. He decided to make an excuse 
by going for his car at Lisle Manor. 

As we came up the steps of the porch, Fay, cool 
and demure for once, greeted us with a laugh. “How 
about it? I'm not the one who is always asleep! 
Natalie is dreaming away yet. I'll have the laugh 
on her, now, after what she said about me yester¬ 
day." 

Kennedy could not conceal his relief. Natalie 
was safe at the Manor. “So—she's not down yet?" 

“No. I'm the early bird this time. . . . Do you 
know, I'd just love a morning spin in the car. I 
want to see this country. It's gorgeous. Shall I call 
the maid? She can teU Natalie. By the time we're 
back she'll be down." 

Fay started, but Craig hastily interrupted. “I'll 
see the maid, please. Fay. You smooth Walter 
down. I rather think you gave Norman Carfax too 
many dances last night." Craig walked into the 
house. 

I was a bit embarrassed. I did not care whether 
Fay gave Carfax all the dances. Fay relieved me of 
265 


266 


ATAVAR 


it by turning into the house, herself. ^^111 be ready 
in a minute/^ she said, with a smiling assurance. 

I followed Craig. We met Suzette coming from 
the service end of the Manor. The moment she saw 
us she seemed ill at ease, annoyed. Kennedy tried 
to win her confidence. “Suzette, Miss Blythe tells 
me Miss Lisle has not come down yet.^’ The girl 
only smiled for answer. “I came after my car. Miss 
Lisle used it last night. Will you tell her Mr. Ken¬ 
nedy is here?’’ The girl nodded and started away. 
“Just a minute, Suzette. Did Miss Lisle get home 
safely—the second time? I’m rather anxious.” 

Suzette lowered her eyes. She seemed to want to 
tell. But there was fealty to her mistress to be con¬ 
sidered. “She is all right.” 

“Suzette. When she came home—was she alone? 
For her sake, tell me. I’m here as a friend to help 
her—and God knows she needs one. . . . Tell me.” 

“Mr. Kennedy . . . the Lord have mercy! . . . 
Something is wrong. If I didn’t think she needed 
me, too, I’d leave.” 

“Why?” importuned Craig. 

“It was just daylight.” Suzette was whispering, 
her hands working nervously, eyes shifting to right 
and left. “I heard a scratching at the door. It 
sounded for all the world—like some animal. It 
kept up—and I came down. . . . When I opened 
the door, there was no man there, no . . . but I 
saw something dark, big, bounding away toward the 
trees, and—how can I ever forget it?—Miss Lisle 
stood there talking a language, something I never 
heard before. She seemed dazed and, as I looked, 
kept getting weaker and weaker. She fainted when 


ATAVAR 267 

I got her up to her room/’ Suzette crossed herself 
at the mere recollection of it. 

^‘Did she know you?” 

^^She did, finally. But she was like a crazy person 
first. Her dress was torn. She had leaves all in her 
hair. I haven’t been with her very long. This is the 
first time I ever saw her that way.” She lowered 
her voice, confiding. ‘^And her breath didn’t even 
smell of liquor! It was as sweet as a baby’s. 0 my 
God! Poor Miss Lisle’s bewitched!” 

‘‘Don’t tell her what you know,” hastened Craig. 
“And above all things, don’t teU anyone else.” 

“You needn’t warn me, sir. I knew what gossip 
among these actor people is . . . and I love Miss 
Lisle.” 

“Go up and tell her we are here, please.” 

Suzette bowed and departed upstairs, dabbing 
gently at her eyes with one corner of her white 
apron. 

I said nothing to Craig. The sequel was quite as 
remarkable as his story the night before, when at 
dawn her own maid had heard a scratching at the 
door, “as though of an animal.” It was Natalie. 
Again I wondered about Natalie’s part in the mur¬ 
der of Hawtrey. If a girl could let herself go like 
that, might she not have killed Hawtrey under one 
of these spells? She was at times a wild primitive. 
The primitive thought nothing of killing. If she 
could scratch up Roger as a child, she could kill 
Hawtrey as a woman. I even worried about Craig’s 
safety. 

I could imagine Natalie that morning, wakening 
as if from a nightmare. . . . 


268 


ATAVAR 


Natalie^s arms came up with a fling, tossing the 
silken covers away from her. The sun shone in her 
room and the little whirling dust-filled beams creep¬ 
ing through her window included her pink body in 
its lacy night garment in their path. She felt the 
warmth of the sunshine and wriggled over until all 
of her was feeling its glow. 

Then she looked at the time. Could it really be 
so late? She kicked her feet hastily and jumped 
out of bed. Smihng guiltily to herself, she decided 
to have her breakfast in her room. She rang, gave 
her orders, donned a pink-satin negligee and pink 
mules. She tried to think why she was so tired. 

“I canT be getting old—yet. Gordon’s party 
couldn’t have made me as tired as this.” She leaned 
against the post of the bed, threw her head back, 
thought back over the events of the evening before. 
She could remember nothing to give her the wild 
fear she had experienced at her wakening. What 
nightmare was it? 

Natalie shrugged her little shoulders. She looked 
at her hands. Why—^what was that? Her nails, on 
which she lavished so mucfi care, were black, black 
as any digger’s! She felt strangely, too. It must 
be the country air. She did not realize things 
dearly. She hardly seemed like the every-day 
Natalie she knew. About her was an urge of incon¬ 
sistency. She didn’t want a bath in the tub. She 
wanted to feel the cool chill of a plunge in the lake 
and the grateful warmth of the sun afterward. She 
would rather have had the uncertainty of finding 
her breakfast in the woods than in her bedroom. 
She felt more like dancing than walking. She was 
tired of the shackles of civilization. 


ATAVAR 


269 


She saw Roger^s picture, a small one, taken by her 
father some years ago. It was a snapshot. She 
made a face at the boy in the picture—caught her¬ 
self laughing at the very face she was making. 

She could scarcely realize herself. A strange com¬ 
pulsion seemed to be on her. The ^^night’^ Natalie 
was gaining ascendancy over the ‘^day’’ Natalie. 
Was that it? 

Then breakfast, cafe au lait, in her room, and 
Suzette backing out as if she were a bit afraid of 
her. Again Natalie laughed. Where was Suzette^s 
daily gossip this morning? Another frown on the 
beautiful face and determination not to worry over 
a little thing like that. Then a long time spent in 
reverie, inconsequential, unessential thinking, aim¬ 
less, a mingling of day dreams and night dreams. 

Natalie was fully aroused to the necessity of 
breaking through this fog of hallucination when 
Suzette announced Craig and myself. The ''day'’ 
Natalie had been striving to assert herself, to emerge 
from the chrysahs of dreams, fights, flights, to a 
clearer understanding of herself. 

"Help me, Suzette,” she cried, wearily. 

With the capable hands of her maid, Natalie was 
soon before us, a slightly weary Natahe, I thought. 
Craig had put off going riding with Fay until Nata¬ 
lie could join us. Fay was disappointed, but I 
promised to take her later in the day myself to see 
the country. 

"Craig,” murmured Natalie after a bit, "I have 
been having such dreams I couldn't sleep well—and 
just see how late it is! Suzette says it is almost 
luncheon time.” 

Suzette appeared again. Natalie took Craig's arm 


270 


ATAVAR 


and nodded to us to follow into the big dining room. 

It was a beautiful room, paneled in oak from 
some old castle in England, Jacobean furniture, with 
its sturdiness and somberness, and the whole end of 
the room a huge window with a seat overlooking 
the forest and lake. 

As it progressed it turned out a merry luncheon 
as far as Natalie was concerned. She seemed to be 
regaining her usual animation and repartee. It was 
merry for all but Fay. Fay, I think, was put out 
by Craig’s inability to fall for her charms. 

After it was over. Fay left us for a short time and 
we went into the library to look at Natalie’s collec¬ 
tion of old volumes. 

Some rooms seem cool and quiet, just the place 
for study, introspection. Such was the Lisle library. 

^^Natahe, you have a wonderful collection of 
books on dreams. . . 

^^Yes, Craig. You know why.” She smiled ab¬ 
sently. 

‘‘Tell me about your dreams last night. You 
know Walter well enough not to mind him.” 

She flung her arms out. “Craig, I am sick of 
dreams! In the city is was different. I didn’t have 
them—at least not these dreams—and it was a 
relief. I wish the old fogies hadn’t stopped 
‘Astarte.’ Now I can’t dance. So I come out here— 
and dream. . . . That reminds me. I want to show 
you something that Shakespeare wrote on censor¬ 
ship.” Impatiently she crossed the room, took out 
a volume, turned the pages. 

“This is Sonnet LXVI—that’s sixty-six, isn’t 
it? , . . 


ATAVAR 


271 


“ ‘And art made tongue-tied by authority 
And folly, doctor-like, controlling skill!’ 

There—what do you think of that? Good?” 

^‘Keep on, Natalie, you’ll need only to find one 
from the Bible and confound your enemies,” I 
admired. 

'Tell me about your dreams, Natalie,” reverted 
Craig. "You know I think enough of you to want 
to help you.” 

"You are persistent!” But she seated herself on 
the divan by Craig. "Oh, it was the old dream— 
just changed a little—a few new incidents! that is 
all. I saw myself. Gel, the neohthic girl, carried off 
by a sort of paleolithic lover. There were blows, a 
struggle, a wild ride, or flight. Then I remember 
another fight—my rescuer, my neolithic lover, my 
troglodyte, Dag, come to help me. More blows, 
blood all about me”—she shivered—"my rescuer 
fell—and I awoke in agony.” Natalie shivered 
again and sat quiet. 

Craig was thoughtful, too. Finally he spoke. 
"Natalie, did you know Gaunt almost killed Roger 
last night?” 

She looked startled. "How?” she asked. 

"When you were dancing through the fields. 
Gaunt was following you. So was Roger. There 
was the inevitable conflict. Inger let us know about 
it. That is how we saved him.” 

"Dancing—through the fields. I don’t remem¬ 
ber.” She stood, eyes unseeing, trying to pierce the 
stubborn mists of memory. "It is all gone!” She 
repeated pathetically, "All gone.” 


272 


ATAVAR 


^‘1 think you were Gel and Roger was Dag. 
Gaunt must have been your paleolithic friend. I 
would watch out for him.” 

^Dh, Craig, I like Gordon. I like Roger, too. But 
I think Ill have to be friends with you. At least— 
I know I am safe.” 

‘'Yes—I was there, too, Natalie. I was trying to 
keep you safe. But your mode of travel was too 
swift for me.” 

“I—^had your car, Craig.” 

It was easy to see that Natalie^s escapades of the 
night before were not even a dream to the “day” 
Natalie. A gentle brush had effaced them from her 
memory. 

She seemed to know something was wrong, but 
not what. “You will be—my friend—Craig?” 

So it was with other incidents during the day, in¬ 
cidents, bits that showed Natalie’s struggle. I could 
not crush back the feeling that at last I was losing 
my friend—to her. Only in a cursory way did she 
inquire after Roger. It seemed that the “night” 
Natalie resented Roger, even the mention of him. 
Kennedy was thoughtful. . . . 

All night through the moon shadows, now, I could 
imagine. Gaunt had strode the Lisle estate, Haw- 
trey’s, his own, in search of Natalie. There had 
been no trace. He had returned to his estate, 
weary, defeated. 

I had no direct means of following Gaunt’s day as 
I did Natalie’s and Craig’s and Roger’s. 

But once during the day, later, we ran across 
Dorothy Carfax at Ravenhall. Then it was she 
could not resist telling us what she knew. 


ATAVAR 273 

‘‘I certainly put one over on the old man/^ she 
laughed. 

‘The old man? Who?^’ 

“Friend husband—silly!’' She snapped her fingers 
in the air in derision. 

“How?” spoke up Craig. 

“I had a battle—and I beat him up. It was a war 
of words!” 

“Tell me-” 

“Oh, I was walking through the lobby of the hotel 
when Norman, who was sitting in an easy chair, 
rose as soon as he saw me. He came over, rather 
nasty. ‘What are you doing here?’ I answered 
him, ‘Minding my own business!’ Just like that. 
It made him furious. ‘Confound you,’ he said, ‘if 
you stick around here. I’ll make trouble for you! 

I’ll tell the management-’ I didn’t give him a 

chance to finish. ‘Prove it, prove anything, old dear! 
You can’t do it!’ He was mad as a hornet. ‘I’ll get 
your letters to Hawtrey and show them around, 
that’s what I’ll do!’ Well, that set me off. I forgot 
everything in my temper. ‘You’re a day too late!’ 
I shot at him. ‘I had them last night—all of them! 
I’ve fixed you—your evidence, as you call it, against 
me. In the grate in my room—burned!’ He called 
me all sorts of names. But names don’t hurt me. 
Evidence would. I couldn’t help it. I spilled the 
beans.” 

It set me thinking. Carfax must know that she 
had got the letters from Gaunt. That set me think¬ 
ing of Gaunt. But not until night did I learn of 
another incident in Gaunt’s day, that afternoon. 
While I am on the subject of Gaunt’s day I feel I 



274 ATAVAR 

may as well set it down logically rather than 
chronologically. 

After his fruitless night wandering, Gaunt must 
have been in a sour mood, baffled, angry, surly. It 
was upon such a Gaunt that Carfax, angry still over 
the letters, intruded. They had had an appoint¬ 
ment to come to terms, but now Gaunt’s mood 
showed itself to Carfax. 

They were discussing the rum-running profits 
from the Haw trey-Carfax enterprises. “But,” ob¬ 
jected Carfax at the terms of settlement proposed 
by Gaunt, “the percentage I claim is rightfully 
mine! For that matter. Gaunt, so is the Carfax 
share of the treasure, if there is any down there in 
Sea Isle. I am the lineal descendant, the only 
living Carfax!” 

Carfax was angry, sore; Gaunt sullen, obdurate. 
Carfax had called off the whole deal finally. 

“Gaunt, I will get my share of the Hawtrey 
profits, and I will get the Carfax share in the sunken 
treasure, too!” 

Gaunt had shrugged superciliously and let Car- 
fax go. When he felt the pinch of money, he would 
be back. 

It was this succession of events that led to a visit 
by Gaunt to Natalie. Of that also I learned only 
later. 

In the early evening at Ravenhall we found that 
Roger had been anxiously calling for Kennedy. He 
was much better, restless to be out, curbed only by 
Doctor Leslie. 

“Craig, I’m frantic!” Roger was confiding, call¬ 
ing on Kennedy for help. “Some one from the 


A T A V A R 275 

yards where my yacht, the Nomad, is has called me 
up with some news that worries me. I- 

^^Quiet yourself, old man,^’ soothed Craig. 

^^But, Craig, yesterday some one from the Jersey 
shore told them that Gaunt's yacht, the Bacchante, 
was down off Barnegat. Now they tell me the 
Bacchante is off Staten Island. She’s a mystery 
ship—on mystery cruises. They know her down 
Barnegat way, too, all right. Down there they don’t 
know who owns her. But she slips out on these 
mysterious cruises, then back just as unexpectedly; 
then away again. She was off Barnegat hght, yes¬ 
terday. Now, to-day, off Staten Island. . . . And, 
last night, what I saw, and what you told me about 
the king stag—and all-” 

Roger could not find words as he paced up and 
down his room now. Craig had given him a faithful 
account of the night before. 

Worried as he was over the mysterious move¬ 
ments of the Bacchante, Roger was plainly now up¬ 
set over the dream dancing of the night before, 
what it might portend. 

He quit suddenly his pacing up and down the 
room, as if in a cage, dropped in a deep chair, in a 
heap, his head on his hand, a wretched figure. 

Physically he was better than he had been at any 
time since the attack. It was that that gave his 
mind more strength for wretchedness. Slumped in 
that chair, Roger was an object of sympathy, and 
Craig, though he said nothing, felt the tug of it. 

^^Kennedy!” exclaimed Roger, fiercely. don’t 
trust any man with Natalie—except you!” 

Still Craig was thoughtful. He said nothing for 
fully a minute. Then he strode over as with a sud- 


276 ATAVAR 

den determination and put his hand on Roger^s 
shoulder. 

“Brace up, old man!” 

Roger nodded, speechless for a moment. “But, 
Craig, IVe been so good to her!” 

His eyes showed that he had ojffered her all—^his 
life. Was there anything else he could give? 

Kennedy answered in measured, slow tone. “Yes, 
Roger—^you have been so good to her!” There was 
a pause. “Roger,” continued Craig, slowly, “re¬ 
member this ... as between Mahatma Gandhi and 
Jack Dempsey—more girls are in love with Jack 
Dempsey!” Another pause. “Natalie is not going 
the way she should go—for her own happiness. 
Roger ... I would suggest—to cure her—some one 
ought to carry her off—bodily!” 

I could see it working in Roger^s mind. He stared 
—^he adjusted his bandages. 

An impulsive moment later, he grasped Craig’s 
hand. There was not a word. But Roger got it. 

Kennedy left the room. Not another thing was 
said. Out in the lower lobby, it was then that we 
met Carfax and learned of the break with Gaunt 
which I have told. 

What would that portend for Natalie in Gaunt’s 
present state? Kennedy must have been thinking 
the same, that it was the moment for quick action. 
He excused himself, strode up to our room. A 
moment later he had returned with what looked 
like a book done up in a package. A few minutes 
and we were on our way again, speeding through the 
splendid night air to Lisle Manor. 

Both Natalie and Fay were at home—alone. It 
seemed that alone was correct, too. There was a 


ATAVAR 


277 


sort of constraint between them. I sensed that 
Craig wanted to see Natalie without me. It hurt, 
but I smothered selfishness as if I were going over 
the top. I asked Fay to take the little ride that had 
not materialized that morning. 

It seemed to me that there was no doubt that 
Natalie had expected Craig. Not that he had told 
her. But intuitively she knew that he would be 
there. She had dressed, was really waiting for him. 
Her welcome had been franker with her eyes than 
with her hand. I knew that at that moment it 
would be easy for Craig to win Natalie. 

It was not gayly I started off with Fay. 

Of course I was not, could not have been there. 
But as now I am able, I purpose to set down what 
took place between Craig and Natalie just as though 
I had been. . . . 

^‘It’s night—and I was getting lonesome, Craig,” 
Natalie said. Then anxiously, a httle, ‘^Have you 
heard how Roger is?” 

“Much better, Natalie—and asking after you.’^ 

She lowered her eyes. After all, she didn’t care to 
have Craig talking about other men. It would be 
so much more engrossing if he would show more 
interest in her. Kennedy felt it. 

“Natalie,” he said, earnestly, “when these uncon¬ 
trollable urges sweep over you, can’t you call some 
one, a friend? At the first sign, get some one here— 
some one to distract you.” 

“I might caU you, Craig.” 

“Yes ... I would be glad to help you. But I 
can’t be here always. What then? 'V^o wiU watch 
out for you—like Roger—then?” 

“I don’t need watching!” She was poignantly 


278 


ATAVAR 


disappointed. Why wasn’t Craig more responsive? 
She was giving him every chance. 

^^It is altogether wrong, Natalie,” he pursued. 
'^You might fall, get hurt, ill, oh, a hundred things 
might happen—and nobody would know in time. 
You must consider yourself more. Don’t you ever 
think about that?” 

don’t think at those times. I just seem to feel. 
If I have thoughts I don’t remember them. It is a 
state of mind. I am isolated as completely as you 
are by those little drops of ether falling on a gauze 
mask from the hand of a doctor! If I stay here long 
and the dreams persist—I’ll go after that treasure 
sooner than I expected! I will! ” 

^Dh, don’t, Natalie. That wiU be foolish. So 
many of those expeditions fizzle out to nothing—or 
worse. And I have a feeling that there will be as 
much danger in that expedition to you as there is 
in your dream dancing—more!” 

Kennedy had begun with a little heart-to-heart 
talk about the dream dancing. But now it was pro¬ 
ceeding to the proposed treasure hunt. All conver¬ 
sations are like a pebble dropped in a still pool 
which starts waves in ever widening circles. 

^Well—what can I do? The goody-goody people 
won’t let me dance in the city. You don’t want me 
to go on the Bacchante after treasure—nor let this 
dream dancing go on. But I can’t just sit still and 
sleep. Gordon tells me he has his yacht ready, too. 
It must be wonderful, a gasoline yacht, big deck, 
saloon, everything. He showed me the pictures, the 
dearest httle room for my sleeping accommodations. 
It’s a dream. I’m dying to take the cruise on it. 
He will let me have the boat a month—alone.^ 


ATAVAR 


279 


^^Natalie! Be careful. Think how it will all end 
—before you start. . . . IVe heard so much about 
yachting parties. I’m fearful.” 

^‘But this is not a yachting party.” She turned, 
playfully shaking a finger at him. ^‘You might 
think I was going out to sow wild oats on the high 
seas. If I wanted to—be like that^—I could do all 
sorts of rash things here!” 

^‘No.” Craig was thoughtful. ^^One does not 
readily think of girls sowing wild oats. Yet they 
often do, nowadays. . . That is one of the strange 
anomalies of the new freedom of women.” 

“Are girls any worse now than ever? There are 
more of us. You see more of us. But the modem 
girl can hold her own, morally, with the girl a few 
years back—that always had to be watched!” Her 
eyes glistened as she took up the defense of her sex. 

“Yes. Life is different. Splendid women in it. 
I grant you that most heartily. But some of these 
same girls are irresistible to men of a certain type. 
These men hover around all women, it is true. But 
they love the lights and glamour of the theater; 
you find more of them trying to enter the charmed 
circle of the theater. Hawtrey was one of them. 
. . . Inger. ...” 

He stopped. It was as if what the end of it all 
might be he preferred to imply by that name rather 
than even to guess in words. For a moment at least 
he did not pursue the subject. Natalie was silent, 
too. 

“It would be delightful, Natalie, if women real¬ 
ized what it is they want out of the world. A man 
can’t tell them. He would be scoffed at.” 


280 


ATAVAR 


'Well, I know.” Natalie spoke up quickly. 
"Love—and happiness.” 

"Is that all?” Craig’s tone was one that made 
her question herself. 

"You might say beauty—and wealth.” 

"No—not exactly. Chaucer had it, in the Wife of 
Bath!’ Power!” 

"Craig, what ails you? Do you mean that all 
these noble women we don’t see or hear, the ma¬ 
jority, toiling away over wash tubs, on the farm, in 
the factory, in the kitchen, are trying to reach out 
for—for power? They are reaching for a living. 
Surely men don’t begrudge them that!” 

"Yes, those women, the majority.” Craig paused. 
"But there are others, those we hear so much about. 
I repeat. Woman to-day is eager for power, to com¬ 
mand servants, to dominate a husband, to have men 
as suppliants at her footstool—to seize the reins of 
government so that she can make over to suit her¬ 
self what she is pleased to call a 'man-made world.’ 
In other words, woman to-day is eager to rule.” 

Natalie was very still. Lights of indignation 
flashed from her eyes. 

"Woman of yesterday,” continued Craig, "was 
content to reign, but not to rule. She cannot do 
both. Therefore, to-day, she neither reigns nor 
rules. She merely has rights. And with rights she 
gets duties. Her new freedom has been bought at 
a price. She has suffered a distinct loss.” 

"Loss! What did we lose? A few seats in the 
subway, the privilege of being treated as children 
by politicians who now are compelled to notice us. 
Do you say we are losing out when we get duties? 
The big women of the world worked night and day 


ATAVAR 


281 


to get them. It is an honor to have duties. They 
ennoble us, develop us. One thing more, Craig. 
Will you tell me of ever a time when she didn’t 
have them, piled on her by the other sex? You 
ought to have said she always has had duties, back¬ 
breaking duties; but now she has a few rights, too.” 

Craig smiled at her zeal. ^‘The League of Woman 
Voters ’ll get you—ef—you—don’t—^watch—out!” 

don’t care who gets me. But sometimes you 
men make me weary. Why—^women are running 
the world, to-day!” 

^^Not running. Some of them are ruining. Men 
have flattered women in a great many things about 
themselves—and now the women believe it!” 

^^Every time a woman accepts a bit of flattery and 
keeps silent, it doesn’t mean she is swallowing the 
bait, hook, line, and sinker. Once there was nothing 
much for her to do but be silent. Now silence may 
mean she is playing a little game of her own. At 
least you have had centuries to show what men 
could do. Now there is a demand for perfection in 
us that you haven’t acquired in centuries. Give us 
a chance.” 

^Wou point to great women of the past, Natalie. 
But do you reahze that most of the loudest women 
of to-day are far from the women of years ago? 
There are too many who want to cut the anchor 
ropes, change everything, have everything turned 
over to them—drifters with emotion. You know 
the Frenchman’s toast—‘To the ladies—once our 
superiors—now our equals’?” 

She took a few light steps about the room. Sud¬ 
denly she stopped before him. “Hokum—^you old 
pessimist!” 


282 


ATAVAR 


^^More than that/^ he pursued, now lowering his 
voice. ^‘Natalie, you are drifting—drifting from one 
man to another—from Roger—to Hawtrey—to 
Gaunt^—to me. ... Do you realize the end of 
that?’^ 

'‘Well, what is it? I have seen enough of that 
among men. You may call me a drifter. At least I 
am not gathering any barnacles while I am drifting. 
I am doing nothing that will cause me one moment’s 
pain in the future. I am clean. That is more than 
I can say about men drifters!” 

"What do I mean?” repeated Craig. "Only this, 
Natalie. When the right man does come along, you 
may have formed habits of life that will mean 
marital unhappiness for you from the start. Drift¬ 
ers are not home-makers, either men or women, 
and the nation depends on its home-makers. That 
is one reason we have so much divorce and moral 
depravity—too many drifters.” 

"It’s because there’s so much put over on them, 
girls get married nowadays with a mental reserva¬ 
tion,” changed Natalie. "It is like trial marriage, 
really—that is all.” 

"Trial marriage?” repeated Kennedy. "That is 
nothing new. Every marriage was originally a trial 
marriage. We’re gradually working up jrom that. 
It comes to this: Nowadays you try a man out, 
merely in acquaintanceship, then engagement— 
finally marry him. That is a step toward perma¬ 
nent marriage.” 

"Ah—but all history is in circles. You have said 
it yourself: Every marriage was originally a trial 
marriage. And I say in the ultimate every mar¬ 
riage will again be a trial marriage!” 


ATAVAR 


283 


'The trouble is that you are trying to make the 
most ancient and dishonorable profession of woman 
a philosophy of life!’^ 

Natalie colored furiously. "I am not trying to 
make dishonor any part of my life. Because a girl 
has many friends, is honest with them all, does not 
make her worse than the girl who never entertained 
more than one man and then has to have the doctor 
and the minister summoned in a hurry at the end. 
The whole thing is a man-conception, anyhow. It’s 
aU right for them to have many—^but a woman— 
ah, that infringes on their rights!” 

"Speaking about rights,” pursued Kennedy, "that 
is just the point to-day. We are in grave danger. 
The last two amendments to the Constitution con¬ 
tain the seeds of ruin of the Americanism on which 
this Republic is founded. One attacks personal lib¬ 
erty, the foundation of the Bill of Rights. You are 
going through to-day a crime that touches on it in 
its rum running, would not have been possible-” 

"Oh, very well, the Eighteenth, yes. But the 
Nineteenth? How can you say that?” 

"I can say it, for I do say it. No one worked 
harder for it than I—but the only argument I could 
ever see was the simple abstract argument of social 
justice. In spite of that, I say it means the femini¬ 
zation of the country, a process fatal when there are 
greater wars looming to-day than ever before in the 
history of the world.” 

"You—gloom! Then you don’t think the female 
of the species is more deadly than the male?” 

"Not>—in that way. History hasn’t shown us 
that. A long-range gun takes no argument from a 



284 


ATAVAR 


long tongue—and you must admit the short-range 
sight of the predominant pacifist women/’ 

‘‘You’re bitter, Craig—almost a woman hater. . .. 
Who was she?” Natalie queried, but colored with 
animation as she came back to the argument. “The 
only thing that would be worse than a man-made 
world would be a woman-made world!” 

“A clever remark, Natafie, yes. But did you ever 
stop to think there was a subtle meaning in the 
fable of Pandora? Besides, the remark says it would 
be worse. You can’t think the only way to decrease 
the chances of error is to double the number of 
errors?” 

Kennedy was on a subject close to his heart now 
and hurried on before she could take the conversa¬ 
tion away from him. “The error to-day is in relying 
too much on mere law, on government—too little on 
people themselves, on individuals and their freedom. 
The trouble is that in trying to make the world safe 
for morality, some people will not rely on the innate 
good of the race itseK which surpasses, now, as it 
always has, the force for evil. You can’t drive the 
race; you’ll more likely drive it the opposite way, if 
you try. That is one reason why this generation is 
worse than the last and the next will probably step 
down below this, unless the pendulum swings back 
sooner than I expect. We have forgotten funda¬ 
mentals, individuals, liberty. But the fundamentals 
are there, just the same. They will triumph. And 
if not with our race—then with some other con¬ 
quering race!” 

“But, Craig, what has that to do with women?” 

“Just this, Natalie. We started with the amend¬ 
ments. It brings us back to them. The people who 


ATAVAR 


285 


are striving to have all these laws passed, who 
closed your show, ^Astarte^—who are they? They 
are the women of your own clubs, Natalie, the men 
who have lost their virility, the pitiful objects of 
woman domination in some organization or other 
that controls them. These men are the hyphenated 
Americans 

^^Oh yes—maybe a few highbrows.” 

^^Yes, Natalie, highbrows and lowbrows. It’s 
making a world of morons compose our new ruling 
class, highbrows educated beyond their capacity— 
lowbrows who have no capacity. Why, there’s even 
a disposition to worship at the feet of Fascism that 
says, ^Liberty is no longer a chaste, severe maiden; 
she is a goddess, more or less decomposed. The 
world needs hierarchy and discipline, not liberty!’ ” 

Kennedy paused a moment. ^‘We have departed 
a long way to-day from the America of Washington 
and Jefferson, Lincoln and Roosevelt!” 

“Yes, you men have! I don’t believe one of those 
illustrious men would have said to a woman the 
scathing remarks you have made to me against 
my own sex!” 

Craig could see the tears glistening on Natalie’s 
lashes, in spite of her intense combative feeling. 
He softened his voice. “Against your own sex? I 
maintain we have no right to judge all women by 
a few to-day who are making the most noise. You 
yourself began by calling attention to this mass of 
women. And you yourself were right—then. These 
women are not sheep who can be delivered by self- 
appointed leaders, maliciously active. The mass of 
women are normal, sane, wholesome at heart. . . . 


286 A T A V A R 

That is what I ask, Natalie. Put yourself in tune 
with themT 

“I’m glad you see a little good in some of us! I 
don’t know what we would have done without it.” 
Natalie was now resorting to sarcasm, a deadly 
weapon in the hands of a quick-thinking, sharp- 
tongued woman. “So, you say tune in with hoi 
polloi!” 

“You may scoff, Natalie. But one thing that 
women are splendid for is the great thing which 
they alone can do and many of them aren’t doing 
any more—to any conspicuous extent.” 

Natahe looked startled. 

“There is altogether too much race suicide among 
the desirables—too little birth control of undesir¬ 
ables. Civilization is dying at the top 1 ” 

Natalie gave a little gasp. “Oh, I seel You have 
the idea that woman’s chief work in the world is to 
bear babies. Well, men have kept us at that so we 
couldn’t do anything else, tied down hand and foot. 
Then they shot the babies down, cut them up, filled 
them with disease, and sent them home to the women 
to bury or to nurse back to a miserable existence. 
Your logic is like heat lightning. Nothing in it. 
Some women prefer careers to cradles!” 

Kennedy shrugged. “Women who think that way 
live only one generation.” He paused. “Distaste¬ 
ful to you to have me say it? Well, it is inexorable 
—not, as you seem to think, the law of man; it is 
the law of nature. Those women and men out of 
tune with nature and the laws of nature do not per¬ 
petuate themselves. They die with themselves. 
The second generation of the others carries on. 


ATAVAR 287 

Only those in tune go on to a second generation and 
a third 

Natalie did not answer. 

^‘Some day/' he went on, things keep on the 
way they are going, an alien race will be digging up 
the tombs of Washington and Jefferson, Lincoln and 
Roosevelt, like the tomb of Tutankhamen, to see 
why their own alien race surpassed us, how it came 
that we allowed woman, who should have perpetu¬ 
ated our race, to ruin it!" 

Craig could see that Natalie was chagrined, dis¬ 
gusted, worst of all, hurt. Here was a man she had 
been sure of, sure of his love and tenderness, she 
thought. And he was acting the boor to her! It 
was almost too much for her. She stood erect as a 
young goddess, herself, eyes flashing, nostrils quiv¬ 
ering with emotion, as she quietly flung a shot at 
Craig in low tones. 

'^Mr. Kennedy—^you recall, one time, you said, 
^When a man takes your hand, he says, love 
you!" When he wants to go further, he says, ^T 
love you!" All men are liars!' ... You recall 
that? Well, I believe you! . . . You are a man!" 
Her lip curled, yet it trembled as it curled. Defl- 
antly she bit her lip. ^T'm going—on that treasure 
hunt! You are no better than the others!" 

^Tlease don't—Natalie!" He stopped and stud¬ 
ied her face. ^^But if you do—^here is a book —bon 
voyage. Won't you read this book —The Weight of 
Civilization —for me?" 

Craig shoved the book into her hand and turned 
away. Natalie stood stockstill, silent, proud, un¬ 
relenting, holding the book mechanically. Bitterly 
she watched Craig turn down the steps, showed no 


288 


ATAVAR 


desire to call him back. Her anger was so great, the 
hurt so painful. Natalie was shocked, alienated by- 
Craig’s action. An idol had fallen. Which way to 
turn? 

It was at this time that I returned with Fay. 
Absently Craig bowed a good-night to Fay, climbed 
in with me, and we started for Ravenhall. 

As Natahe heard the car leaving, she made a 
pathetic little gesture of recall. But it was too late. 
Craig was gone; he did not see it. She did not know 
just what to do. Why was all the happiness of her 
life left so incomplete? “Astarte,” that she loved 
and in which she had been so happy, was closed. 
Craig on whom she had learned to rely had revealed 
himself callous to her sensibilities. Only Gordon 
Gaunt and Roger Gerard left. She sank into a 
chair. . . . 

I soon saw on the drive back to Ravenhall that 
Craig was moody, morose. I started to rally him 
about it. 

said a lot of things, Waiter. ... I didn’t really 
mean haK of it—at least not the way it must have 
sounded to her. . . . But I felt, I feel that some one 
ought to tell her, bring her up short and sharp, face 
to face with a realization of what hfe is all about!” 

As he talked, rambled, I thought I understood.. . . 

If Kennedy was to win this Hawtrey case—^he 
must lose Natalie. If he won Natalie, he would lose 
his case; he would not be true to himself. Conse¬ 
quently he had deliberately set out to win his case— 
and first of all he had actually to alienate Natalie. 

He was moody over the sacrifice. . . . 

Then, gradually, I began to see. Kennedy had 


ATAVAR 289 

learned, realized something, something I did not 
know, through the megahthic dream dancing. 

^‘Natalie,’^ he murmured once, '^not for me!” 
There was a depth of sadness in his tone. 

It was not for some time on the road to Raven- 
hall that Craig gave me a chance to retail my own 
talk with Fay. I shall give it as it took place rather 
than as I repeated it to Craig. 

Fay was always racy, never dull. ‘‘You know, 
Walter,” she confided after we had been riding for 
some minutes, “if Natalie goes off on any trip—or 
gets married—I’ll be looking for another meal ticket, 
feminine preferred, until I get in a new show.” 

“You are delightfully frank about it, Fay.” 

“I have to be, in these days when the reformers 
are so active on one side and the amateurs are 
crowding us professionals so on the other.” 

“Why don’t you go on your own until you get in 
a show?” 

“Don’t preach, Walter. You bore me. I’m watch¬ 
ing Natahe and Gaunt all the time. I don’t want 
him to spoil my game.” 

“Why? Why do you say that?” 

“Oh, I’m afraid—from what I saw to-day—afraid 
Gaunt will win out.” 

“Yes? TeUme.” 

“I thought that would interest you. Then you 
can run along and tell Craig!” 

“Fay, don’t be sarcastic. You have some news 
you’re dying to spill and I’m dying to pick up.” 

Fay laughed. But she went on and I gave her 
credit for acumen. She wanted me to tell Craig. 
“Gaunt was here again to-night, in the early eve¬ 
ning.” I uttered a low exclamation. “He is out to 


290 A T A V A R 

win Natalie. Tell your friend he is likely to lose 
her.” 

^Tt wouldn't displease me,” I confessed. ^'Why?” 

^'Well, to-day Natalie was different. Didn't you 
notice it? She seemed blase, more sophisticated, if 
you get what I mean.” 

^^Been giving her lessons?” I said it with a laugh, 
but there must have been a bit of sting in it, for Fay 
slapped my face lightly with her free hand. 

^'Gaunt was different, too. More business-like. 
He is through with fooling. On the surface his 
manner is ingratiating enough. But I could see, 
underneath, iron.” 

^^How do you mean?” I asked, quickly. 

'Dh, by what he said to her. For instance, I 
heard, ^You haven't forgotten that this place is 
mortgaged?' and things like that.” 

^^What did Natalie say?” 

“She said she was waiting to see how the Haw- 
trey will case came out, and’then that she had a 
friend who suggested cutting the estate up into little 
acre and two-acre tracts and selling it. Craig hasn't 
been talking that to her, has he? No? Well, maybe 
it’s something just popped into her head. Any¬ 
how, as she chatted along, the conversation seemed 
to change. Finally I heard him say, Dh, well, the 
mortgage? Pouf! The Manor shall be yours al¬ 
ways—as long as you are a good little girl!' ” 

I gasped, as Fay expected I would. “How did 
Natahe take that?” I asked. 

Fay became quite confidential. “Walter, that’s 
what worries me. She seemed fascinated. I don't 
know. I didn't understand her. It's not the same 
Natalie in the show. I don't understand her now. 


ATAVAR 291 

She may have been fascinated by his apparent gen¬ 
erosity—or it may be something else. . . 

‘What else?^^ 

“While I was watching them. Gaunt was pretty 
close to her. . . . He was telling her the wonders of 
the Bacchante. He harped on that boat so much 
that I was afraid she^d take it. She didn’t. But 
she is not the same Natalie.” Fay said it very posi¬ 
tively, paused, then a moment later resumed: “I 
could see that she was fighting and arguing with 
herself, her nature. It was just as if she was almost 
admitting, What’s the use!” 

“Why—^how do you know?” 

There was a little catch in Fay’s voice. “Walter, 
every one of us who has stumbled on the Boulevard 
of Bunk has asked the questions of herself; but a 
man’s attentions and a woman’s heart—and the 
grim necessities of life, like living, or a mortgage— 
well, you know—some of us stumble—that’s all.” 

I had never been wanting in respect for the real 
Fay; it rose higher now. I felt sick at heart. “Did 
Gaunt win her?” 

“No. But he has a great influence over her. He 
knows how to use it—without disgusting her, too. 
I would say that he has almost persuaded her to 
leave Lisle Manor and go after that treasure, I’m 
afraid.” 

“Then your anxiety isn’t all over losing a meal 
ticket. Fay. I knew it.” 

“No, Walter, of course not. I just said that. We 
hide our real selves from people we don’t—trust. 
I’ve lived with Natahe. I have lived my life. It is 
just one woman with a little tenderness for another. 
I don’t want her to be like me.” Fay was crying. 


292 


ATAVAR 


The rest of the ride was spent in getting back the 
old Fay, the Fay for whom I now had a high 
opinion. 

As I told Kennedy, recapitulating it, I could im¬ 
agine that with the night again. Gaunt had been 
impelled to go directly to his purpose. A different 
Gaunt, he had called on Natalie, a different Natalie 
in whom the “night’^ Natalie was crowding out the 
‘^day’' Natahe, in her dual nature. Over her was 
there creeping slowly the feehng, What’s the use? 
Was Gaunt in the ascendant? 

Kennedy could not drive fast enough the rest of 
the way to Ravenhall. Leslie was waiting for us, 
but Craig wanted to see Roger. Leslie tried to dis¬ 
courage it. ‘‘Let him rest,” he said. “He’s getting 
along bully.” Craig found Roger’s room dark, then 
turned away, smiling quietly to himself. 

It didn’t take much for me to see that Craig 
believed Roger was not in the room, that the leaven 
of his remarks—“Carry her off to cure her”—^was 
working. He said nothing, but I could see by his 
expression that he comforted himself with the 
thought that the great renunciation he had made 
had been worth while. 

Leslie was nervous over something else. He had 
had word from Dunphy that Boyle was going to 
raid the Elinor Babbit Shaw tea room, and had 
waited up to tell us. Kennedy was nervous. “Not 
yet, anyhow. We must stop them—for the present,” 
he exclaimed. 

So it was that on the Owl we were speeding back 
to the city with Leslie, dug up both Boyle and 
Dunphy in the small hours, held them off for the 


ATAVAR 293 

present, and came back to Ravenhall on the first 
train in the morning. 

Kennedy's first care was to call up Roger’s room. 
There was no answer. The floor clerk revealed that 
he had not been in it; at least the bed had not been 
slept in. Then the room clerk told us he had 
checked out. 

Craig said nothing. But he was pleased. So was 
I. It was working. He called Lisle Manor. No 
answer. Again and a third time at intervals he 
called. Still no answer. 

He was leaving the telephone booth the third 
time when we heard a voice back of us. “Good 
morning, Craig—Walter. Have you heard the 
news?” It was Dorothy Carfax. 

“News? What’s new, Dorothy?” 

“My husband has skipped—probably on the 
bounding waves by this time. I’ve been watching 
that little piece of cheese. I know when he left, 
with whom he left, and where he is going.” She 
laughed. It didn’t seem to worry her much. “Some 
detective I am, Mr. Kennedy. Wives are great 
detectives!” 

Craig nodded. “With whom did he leave?” 

“Fay Blythe—the little trickster. I hate her! 
But the funny part of it is that they went off with 
Roger Gerard in his car, last night.” 

“Roger Gerard?” Craig exclaimed, excited. “Are 
you sure?” 

“I saw them. Isn’t that enough? Also I over¬ 
heard them. I made it my business.” 

“What did they say?” 

“They were talking about the quickest way to 
Camden.” 


294 


ATAVAR 


'That's where Roger keeps his boat/' I inter¬ 
rupted. 

"I heard them arguing whether they’d make 
better time crossing the river by a ferry up here or 
below. They decided on Fort Lee, finally.” 

"Was—Natalie—with them?” I asked, quickly. 
"Craig has called Lisle Manor three times this 
morning. No answer.” 

"You bet there wasn’t. No ... I heard Fay 
say that Natalie had gone three or four hours be¬ 
fore—on the train—to pick up the Bacchante at 
Tompkinsville. Gaunt has loaned it to her, all out¬ 
fitted, for a month, and she has taken Inger alone 
on it with the crew and a couple of divers. She is 
treasure hunting!” 

"Where were they when you heard this?” asked 
Craig, coolly. 

"Down by the hotel garage. I followed Norman 
all night. Fay must have called him as soon as 
Natalie left the Manor. Roger was there at the 
time. It didn’t take them long to get off. They 
stopped here for gas and oil and air and my hus¬ 
band ; he’s gas and air, but I never could see any oil 
about him!” 

It was a shock, Natalie gone over to Gaunt, 
Roger off in his racing car to his boat in Camden 
with Carfax and Fay. He had been too late. Nata¬ 
lie was already sailing the Bacchante, with Inger, 
alone. 


CHAPTER XIV 


PURSUIT 

Calmly Dorothy looked at Craig, and satisfied. 
It is gratifying to be the bearer of news, news of 
importance. Her look seemed to say, ‘‘Now that 
IVe thrown this bomb at you, what are you going 
to do about it?^^ 

“I’m going over to Gaunt’s place,” remarked 
Craig, accepting the challenge of her eyes. “Will 
you come along?” 

Dorothy nodded. She was not going to miss 
anything. 

The butler answered when Craig dropped the big 
brass knocker. 

“I’d like to see Mr. Gaunt. . . . Mr. Kennedy.” 

“Sorry, sir. Mr. Gaunt is out of town.” 

“Where can I reach him? It’s quite important.” 

The butler looked at Craig as a bank president 
might, with the air: “Important for you; but not 
for me.” The fact that Dorothy Carfax, whom he 
evidently knew was with us, must have determined 
his manner of answering. “In the city, sir, perhaps 
at the bank, sir.” 

“Is Miss Dean in?” Craig asked, in a tone that 
preserved his own dignity yet mollified the man. 

“No, sir.” 

“Do you know where she is?” 

295 


296 


ATAVAR 


‘‘Why, yes, sir. I understood she was going down 
to Tompkinsville off Staten Island to meet the 
yacht, the Bacchante, sir.^^ 

I could not help feeling that there was no con¬ 
cealment here. Perhaps because there was no 
necessity. At least that much was true. Inger must 
be on the yacht with Natalie. 

Craig hesitated a bit and the butler looked at him 
uneasily. Finally Craig made up his mind as to the 
form of the next question. “Did Mr. Carfax go 
into the city with Mr. Gaunt?^’ he asked, pointedly. 
Dorothy gasped at the unnecessary question, but I 
knew that Craig was fishing. 

“No indeed, sir, he did not!’’ 

“Why do you answer so positively?” 

“Well, because I overheard them quarreling.” 
He said this with a sidewise glance at Dorothy. 
“Mr. Gaunt is not the kind of man to travel about 
with an enemy.” He drew himself up to his full 
height as if Gaunt’s dimity depended upon his own 
chest expansion. “I think he’ll stay away from 
Mr. Gaunt.” 

“Why?” It was loo much for Dorothy. “Not 
that I blame Mr. Gaunt. I ought to know that cad, 
Carfax. But why do you think he will stay away?” 

“The dreadful things he said!” The butler’s eyes 
bulged. 

“What did he say?” put in Craig. “Did he 
threaten him?” 

“I should say he did, sir. I was in the hall and I 
heard it. I couldn’t help it. He told my master, 
sir, ‘Look out, Gaunt! You are headed the same 
way Hawtrey was headed. Lady Luck is with me. 
My enemies seem to be out of luck. Hawtrey is 


ATAVAR 


297 


dead. My wife isn’t having the easiest time of it. 
Maybe your turn will be next!’ I didn’t like it. 
I thought there might be blows. But right after 
that, sir, Mr. Carfax left.” 

At least we had got an earful. We knew that 
Gaunt must have prevailed on Natalie to go on 
his boat with Inger as chaperon and maid. He 
must have used some pressure on Inger, too. 

On the way back to Ravenhall I got to thinking 
of Roger Gerard enlisting Norman Carfax and Fay 
in pursuit on the Nomad. Hastily I recollected. 
Carfax owned one-fifth interest in the treasure, if 
any were found. But Fay owned another fifth. 
Together they would have two-fifths. I began to 
feel again now my suspicion on Roger, on Carfax 
and Fay, for the Hawtrey murder. They were to¬ 
gether now. Might they not have been then, that 
night? 

Yet, as I thought over the night on which Haw¬ 
trey was killed, I could not escape my first fears. 
On the other hand, what about Natalie? What 
about Natahe, and the treasure, too? She had the 
Lisle fifth—and the Hawtrey fifth, now, also, or 
would have if the will were ultimately upheld. 
Natalie also had two-fifths. 

I found myself by reason of the flight and the 
pursuit forced back again to consider the motives 
for the murder of Hawtrey. . . . 

Kennedy decided upon an immediate return to 
New York, and we drove back in the car, taking 
Dorothy. Craig left her at her hotel, the Gamorrah, 
from which she said she was going to see how her 
tea room was getting along, and we turned down¬ 
town to headquarters to see Dunphy. 


298 


ATAVAR 


Dunphy was not really a bit advanced in solving 
the Hawtrey case. More than that, he was feeling 
the effect of public clamor that something be done. 
He was getting sensitive. 

Dunphy had before him a confidential report of 
one of his men of the purchase by Gaunt of a com¬ 
plete outfit from the Salvage Corporation of an 
apparatus on a new system for raising sunken 
vessels. 

^^Salvage practice,” read the report, ^^according 
to this company will no longer be hampered by de¬ 
pendence on surface devices or limited by the ef¬ 
fective depth at which divers can work. It has been, 
they say, impossible to lift sunken vessels more than 
sixty feet or to salvage cargoes more than one hun¬ 
dred feet below the surface. The new system may 
reach depths as great as one thousand feet, it is 
claimed. 

^The principal element in this method is a huge 
chamber fitted with caterpillar treads and actuated 
by electrical propelling machinery which enables 
it to clamber, crab fashion, on the ocean bottom 
and at a depth up to one thousand feet. The record 
depth for a diver is a little over three hundred feet. 

^‘Holes are made at regular distances by driUs 
along the sides of a sunken ship and ten huge cylin¬ 
drical pontoons are lowered and attached to the 
vessel by hooks. Air is pumped into the cylinders 
and the ship is thus lifted to the surface. These 
pontoons are of the inverted hour-glass type with 
a lifting efficiency of ninety per cent. The old hori¬ 
zontal types required forty per cent of the air to 
raise the pontoon alone.” 


ATAVAR 


299 


Dunphy remarked, skeptically, '^he’s going 
at it scientifically. He’s sunk a good many com¬ 
panies, and raised ’em, too. I wonder whether this 
will work.” 

“Has it been delivered?” asked Craig. 

Dunphy nodded. “I understood that the whole 
outfit was on a dock at Tomkinsville yesterday.” 

We were gaining information that accorded with 
the avowed purpose of the cruise of the Bacchante, 
at least—the raising of the sunken treasure at Sea 
Isle. 

Craig made inquiries at the Export & Import 
Bank. Gaunt was not there, nor had he left any 
word. 

We took a noon trip over to TomkinsviUe to check 
up on the delivery of the salvage apparatus, found 
the dock, and that the outfit had actually been put 
aboard the Bacchante, together with a crew of three 
experts who could operate it. Craig lingered about, 
discussing the thing. 

“Yeh,” wheezed an old boatman between mustache 
and beard, “the stuff was on the wharf for two days. 
I seen it. There was three fellows to work it; be¬ 
sides, the man who come down here told me he was 
the inventor and was going along. I took him out 
to the yacht in the early morning, just before another 
party, the ladies, arrived and sailed.” 

“The inventor?” queried Craig. 

“Yeh. He had two grips. They knowed him on 
the yacht.” 

“Two grips. Any name or any mark on them?” 

“I saw ^G. G., New York,’ on ’em.” 

“What!” 

“Yes, sir. ^G. G., New York.’ ” 


300 


ATAVAR 


Kennedy slipped the old man a half dollar. 

G. G.—Gordon Gaunt—New York! 

Could it be? Gordon Gaunt, a stowaway on his 
own boat? 

Here was real fear for Natalie, now! 

Was Gaunt really, in fact, himself carrying off 
Natahe by force on the Bacchante f 

A thousand useless thoughts swarmed through my 
head. With his own and her shares of the treasure. 
Gaunt would have three-fifths. But what of that? 
What did that amount to? He had all the real 
treasure—Natalie herself! 

Still, Gerard was in pursuit on the Nomad, But 
How could that insure her safety? How could 
Roger, on another boat, protect Natalie? 

Craig said nothing. We crossed back to New 
York and he drove quickly uptown to the laboratory, 
where I saw him set to work immediately packing 
some stuff in his miniature traveling laboratory. He 
was evidently preparing for a trip. 

There was a knock at the door and I admitted 
Clews, head of the Clews Agency, whose operatives 
Kennedy often used. With him was a stocky fellow 
wearing a copper chauffeur’s license fastened to his 
cap. 

^They told me down at headquarters you were 
back in town. I thought you’d be up here. Well, 
Mr. Kennedy, I canvassed all the taxi garages in 
the city, even the independents. That was some 
job. But you were right—go after the independents. 
And I found a driver who followed another car to 
the Hawtrey house the night of the murder. Fred, 
tell Mr. Kennedy your story. This is Fred Haupt.” 


ATAVAR 301 

Haupt was a stocky fellow, with light eyelashes 
and eyebrows, pig-bristle eyebrows. 

^^You drove a cab up to the Hawtrey house that 
nightrepeated Kennedy, closing his case, which 
he had finished packing. 

“Yes, sir. I drove my cab up to Hawtrey^s house 
that night.’^ 

“With a woman in it?” 

“No, a man.” 

“You overtook Hawtrey’s cab?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Who was in it?” 

“Mr. Hawtrey alone—at least that's all I saw. 
You see, they got away from us. But we picked 
them up. The fare I had seemed to know where 
to do it. The house door was open when I pulled 
up. Mr. Hawtrey was at the curb, paying his charge 
on the meter.” 

Kennedy scowled. Was it an evasion? “Who was 
in your car? Would you know the man?” 

“I think so.” 

“Well?” 

“I think, sir, it was that Doctor Gerard whose 
name has been in the papers.” 

I felt an involuntary gasp. “Could you identify 
him?” 

“I guess so, if I was to see him. He was muffled 
up that night, his hat over his eyes, mostly. All I 
remember is that he carried a package done up in a 
paper, hke a bottle.” 

Kennedy reached into a drawer and passed over 
a photograph to Fred. “Does that look hke him?” 

“Well, yes sir, a little bit. ... I couldn't just say 


302 


ATAVAR 


positively. Maybe if I could see him with a coat 
and hat on, in the night, I think I could tell then.’^ 

“But that's a photograph of Norman Carfax!" 
exclaimed Clews, involuntarily. 

Kennedy scowled, but said nothing. 

Haupt seemed to realize that he hadn't done just 
what was expected. “It's either one of the two, sir," 
he insisted, “that man or that Doctor Gerard." 

“How do you know?" 

“Oh, I'm sure." 

“Not so very. You've been reading the news¬ 
papers on this case?" 

“Oh yes, sir, every edition, ever since it hap¬ 
pened." 

Kennedy nodded. 

Was Haupt a notoriety seeker? Or did he know 
something? Kennedy left it to Clews to keep in 
touch with Dunphy. I could see that he was not 
expecting to stay in the city. 

His first care now was running down and check¬ 
ing up on the rumor that Gaunt had gone a stow¬ 
away on his own boat. 

We found that Leslie and Boyle had been in at 
headquarters at various times to see Dunphy. 

“Has the Bacchante a wireless?" asked Craig. 

Dunphy looked in the records. “Yes—^here's the 
call and the wave length. The Nomad, too. Why?" 

“I'm thinking of using your police wireless." 
Craig had bent over a table with a pad and a pen¬ 
cil, writing, editing. “I’m going to frame something 
on Gaunt to smoke him out—broadcast by wireless 
over the ocean until I reach them. Look. Here 
are two messages. The first is one from myself to 
Roger Gerard on the Nomad, You've got the call. 


ATAVAR 


303 


‘Inform me when Gaunt and Bacchante sighted. 

Kennedy. 

“The second is from Dorothy Carfax to Gaunt on 
the Bacchante: 

‘Attorney desires affidavit Norman with Fay on Nomad 
trip. Depending you mail registered deposition immediately 
arrival Nassau.’ ” 

I thought them a bit strange for Kennedy to send, 
but I said nothing. 

Craig continued. “Now youVe got the calls and 
the wave lengths and all the details in your records, 
or can get them. Send the Bacchante message on 
the Nomad call—the Nomad message on the Bac¬ 
chante call. Get me?’^ 

Dunphy nodded and grinned. “Crossed wireless, 
eh?’^ 

I began to see Craig^s purpose, now, with the 
switched messages. Nothing inspires action so 
quickly as exclusive news falling into hands of rivals 
for whom it was not intended. 

“Then wait,” he added. “You will inform all the 
receiving stations to let you have any answers they 
pick up immediately.” Dunphy agreed. 

We drove uptown again to see Dorothy at the 
Elinor Babbit Shaw tea room. 

“Did you find Gordon Gaunt?” she asked as we 
entered. Kennedy shook his head and she went 
on. “I heard nothing, either. I telephoned several 
places. No one seems to know anything.” 

“Not likely, either. Gaunt is a stowaway on the 
Bacchante —^half a day south of Sandy Hook. WeTe 
waiting for radio messages to confirm it.” 


304 


ATAVAR 


might have guessed it! A man like Gaunt 
would never let a pretty girl like Natalie take his 
yacht for a month without getting some sort of pay 
for it. I know that breed 1’^ 

^^Anything more about your husband and Fay?^' 
heard enough last night. I feel mighty sore, 
too. He’ll pay for this dirty mean trick—fat ali¬ 
mony!” 

I smiled. But as I looked at Dorothy I realized 
it was no laughing matter with her. 

^‘I’m sore at everyone. I’m through with Roger 
Gerard for taking them. But I feel sorest at Gordon 
Gaunt. The night I bought my letters back by be¬ 
ing quiet at his party he told me he would let 
Norman get his share of the Hawtrey profits. That 
was my heart balm. Now he’s going to fight Norman 
himself in every way. I don’t believe I’ll get a 
cent of that money due Norman!” 

Dorothy was sitting in a little rocking chair in 
her office and rocking violently, vindictively. It 
told the state of her feelings. Then when Craig 
told her of the taxicab rumor, that seemed to fas¬ 
cinate her. Her eyes glistened and her hands 
clenched at the chair as if at what the rumor sug¬ 
gested. She was silent a few moments. Then she 
muttered under her breath. 

^Tf I could only get something like that on him!” 

Kennedy smiled. ''You’d get your freedom.” 

"Freedom! I’d get all he has! I’d see to that. 
And I’d get what was coming to Norman from 
Hawtrey, too. If I could only get him in a felony! 
I tell you, these men have made a gold digger out 
of me. By them I’ve fallen—and by them I’ll get 


ATAVAR 305 

up, too! I’m tired of being kicked around like an 
old hound dog!” 

“Dorothy,” Craig advised, checking the outburst, 
“don’t you think it would be the thing to go after 
them, follow them all up, see what they are doing?” 

“You’re an optimist, Craig. How can we watch 
anybody in the ocean—^with the start they have on 
us? How? There’s no boat for three days. I 
found that out before you came up!” 

She went to the door of the office and looked out 
at the tea room. Its shining floors, draperies, furni¬ 
ture, and dainty appointments made an alluring 
picture to the business instinct of her. She looked 
about it fondly. Then she shrugged her shoulders. 

“I can’t leave this just now. Who will take care 
of the tea room? Business is good.” Dorothy 
seemed very reluctant now to leave it. I could 
easily see how she felt. 

Kennedy lowered his voice, “I think you’d bet¬ 
ter. I’m giving you a tip. The enforcement agents 
are going to swoop down soon on this place . . . 
likely to happen any moment, now. You’d better 
get it cleaned up, clear out yourself for a time—or 
you’ll find a padlock on the door for a year!” 

She looked startled at Craig. “Is that true, Craig? 
Confound these reformers. That’s like high license! 
Here I get something going nicely—and then more 
trouble. I’U think over what you asked before that. 
What good will my going do, anyway?” 

“Well, you can get all the evidence you want. 
You’ll help us out with Natalie, too, if we can get 
her away from Gaunt. It will be better in every way 
if you go. I’m going down to Dunphy again to see 
about my messages. If I get replies. I’ll be back 


306 


ATAVAR 


at once.’^ He paused. “They wonT do anything 
about this place until after that/’ he added, “but 
then—” He shrugged. 

We walked in upon Dunphy radiating a smile. 
“They bit!” he exclaimed. “Both of them!” 

He handed us a message picked up by Radio, In¬ 
corporated. It was to Justus James from Gaunt. 
The Bacchante outfit had picked up Kennedy’s 
message to Roger, as intended, and the operator had 
got off a reply instantly. Kennedy read it with 
a sardonic humor. At once the wireless had con¬ 
firmed that Gaunt was on the Bacchante. 

The message to Justus James was a grim com-, 
mentary on what Gaunt thought of Kennedy and 
his schemes for Natalie: 

^‘At all cost delay sailing of Kennedy and Jameson on 
ship Saturday.’’ 

Kennedy continued smiling to himself as Dunphy 
handed over a second message that had been relayed 
up from the powerful station at Deal. The message 
addressed to Gaunt had been picked up on the 
Nomad. A reply from Carfax had been shot off 
through the air immediately. It was a characteristic 
reply. 

Carfax’s message was addressed to Boyle. 

“Start something with that tea room on evidence I gave. 
Keep my wife from getting out of New York until I start 
back.” 

“The snake,” sneered Dunphy, with no respect 
for the informer even if he used him. “I don’t like 
that fellow. I’ve got a pretty good suspicion about 


A T A V A R 307 

the murder of Hawtrey, too, the woman over whom 
it was/’ 

‘Who?” I asked. 

“What about his wife? What about Fay Blythe, 
too?” I was noncommittal, principally because I 
had nothing better to offer. Besides, the idea had 
been in all our heads. . “Now, they’re all sailin’ off 
down to that Sea Isle. Do you blame me for won¬ 
dering whether the public ’U say. Did we let the 
real criminals escape? I’ll bet you your own paper, 
Jameson, will be askin’ to-morrow, ‘Is the flight 
really confession? Have they fled beyond the reach 
of the long arm of the law?’ And then they’ll lam¬ 
baste my department, here!” 

There was ill-concealed criticism underneath 
Dunphy’s tone. Craig had felt it before, had passed 
it by. But this seemed too much. 

“Just a moment, Dunphy.” He was cold and 
impersonal. “Did you have a warrant for any of 
them?” 

“N-no.” Dunphy thought a minute. Then he 
flared back. “What have you got, so far, Kennedy?” 

Craig answered slowly. “A pretty well-grounded 
theory. . . . Just let them be a few days where they 
think they are safe. I’ll have some results, I think. 
... By the way, I’m leaving town this afternoon. 
I have a girl to save, Dunphy. I shudder every time 
I think of the danger through which she is going in 
this case.” Kennedy seemed to tower over the of- 
flcial. “If aU I had to clear up was the Hawtrey 
murder, I could have rigged it, hurried it, got it 
off a week ago. But there is a human soul at stake. 
Let the dead bury the dead. It is the hving for 
whom we must think first. I would have been false 


308 


ATAVAR 


to every profession I have ever made if I had let 
personal ambition stand in the way of the future 
happiness of the most remarkable girl I have ever 
met. ... I leave that taxi driver, Haupt, with you 
and Leslie, Dunphy. Use a little finesse on him, if 
you are going to give him the third degree . . . 
that's all." 

We went directly to the tea room. Dorothy had 
been busy in our absence. Already the place looked 
barren. 

‘^IVe taken your tip to heart, Craig. I don't want 
to go to jail." She gave a little shiver. “If any¬ 
body searched this place now they wouldn't find a 
thimbleful of the stuff. Now they can do their 
worst. Tell me the news." 

Dorothy Carfax looked up from her desk where 
she had been going through a pile of bills and notes, 
destroying everything that might hurt the feelings 
of the enforcers. 

“Gaunt was really a stowaway on his own boat," 
replied Kennedy. “I've had a message from him, 
at least we intercepted one—quite complimentary 
to me, too." 

“What about Norman?" 

“Of course Fay is with him. But you ought to 
see the message I got back from him. Here, I'll 
read it, picked up at Deal. It's addressed to Boyle 
of the enforcement office: ^Start something with that 
tea room on evidence I gave. Keep my wife from 
getting out of New York until I start back!' " 

Dorothy blew up. “Deal—that's a raw deal! 
Keep me away! Will he?" She rose, excited, from 
her chair at the desk, strode forth in her anger, 
pounding the table. 


ATAVAR 309 

‘'Will you go with us to Sea Isle?’’ asked Craig, 
quietly. 

“Go? I'd go to the Pole! You bet I will. . . . 
But, how? The next boat leaves Saturday. That 
will be too late." She stared disconsolately out of 
the window. 

“How?" repeated Kennedy. “To Miami—get a 
flying boat—drop down on them out of the sky!" 

Dorothy stared at the audacity of the thing. It 
appealed to her. “I’ll go—if I have to swim!" 

“Then hurry. Clean things up here. We leave 
on the Coast Line at six." 

I cannot even yet recall without aversion the en¬ 
forced inaction of that trip of many hours on the 
Florida express. No time was lost, it is true. But 
I felt a consuming, an increasing anxiety as the hours 
dragged. I would have done anything to hasten 
them; my anxiety delayed their flight. 

Craig was moody. Yet never for an instant did 
he lose his grip. . . . 

At Miami, he lost no time in locating all the air- 
m*en of the city or anywhere near the east-coast 
resort. 

Finally he decided upon a hydro, believing that 
with Dorothy and myself as added passengers the 
first duty was safety, not speed. He found a flier 
at last, Donald MacKay, after his own heart. 

MacKay, with a ready smile, grinned at Craig’s 
first introduction of himself. The bargaining was 
short and to the point. 

“I s’pose you want to go to Bimini—like all the 
rest," laughed MacKay, as Craig looked keenly over 
his “boat." 

“No—Sea Isle." 


310 


ATAVAR 


‘m-what? Gollies!^’ 

‘^Sea Isle.’^ 

‘That’s about a hundred and seventy-five, two 
hundred mile as the gull flies—two hours, maybe 
more, in this boat. I can get up to seventy-five 
miles an hour. You’ll go—^yes—if you pay!” 

“I expect to pay,” nodded Craig, quietly. 

McKay caught sight of Dorothy and me. He 
had not at first thought we were*with Craig. “Hey! 
Two passengers, too? Say, I’ll—sell you the boat!” 

“Will you pilot it?” 

McKay thought a moment. “Yes—if you pay!” 

Kennedy smiled. “It’s a hold-up. But it’s done. 
Come up to the bank and get your money, trans¬ 
ferred by telegraph from my account in New York.” 

“Fair enough! All right. To-morrow. I’ll tune 
up your boat for you to-night, Mr. Kennedy. Early, 
now, if the weather’s right!” 

At the hotel a message was waiting for Craig. 
It was from Dunphy: 

Mrs. Carfax has disappeared. Watch out for her. Find 
the woman and you can always land the man. Good hunting. 

Kennedy laughed at Dunphy’s acumen. 

“You can always depend on Dunphy to lock the 
hangar door when the aeroplane is stolen,” I laughed. 

We were all but one jump closer. Yet that did 
not permit me to rest much better that night than I 
had on the train. 

All rest was effectually broken when in the small 
hours the room telephone began an insistent ring¬ 
ing, and Craig answered it in bur suite, turning to 
me, heavy eyed, as I stood in the door. 


ATAVAR 


311 


long distance—^New York calling.’’ 

From the little I heard Craig say, I gathered it 
was Doctor Leslie, that he had been at the lab¬ 
oratory, and that he was relaying a message he had 
found there. Craig with a pencil was taking it down 
on the hotel stationery. 

Neither of us said a word as Craig hung up and 
we read what he had written. It was a wireless, just 
delivered: 

Craig Kennedy, 

New York : 

I have bribed the operator on the Bacchante to get this 
message off secretly at night when all is quiet. So far Gor¬ 
don has been a gentleman, hut if anything happens to break 
his promise to me, your next news of me will be from the 
ocean. 

I want you to know that I have been thinking over in the 
silence of the sea those terrible things you said to me a^4 
that I forgive you. 

Natalie. 

Kennedy said nothing. He just continued readhvxg 
over and over and pondering. ^‘So far Gordon has 
been a gentleman.” “If anything happens . . . 
your next news from me will be from the ocean!” 
^‘Thinking in the silence of the sea.” forgive 
you.” 

What did Craig read between the lines? 

As for me I read nothing but peril, peril for 
Natalie, hanging only on that slender thread, ^‘If 
anything happens to break his promise to me!” 

Of what value was an oral promise to one like 
Gordon Gaunt, to whom even a contract was but a 
scrap of paper? 

The night was sleepless. . . . 


312 


ATAVAR 


I could hardly wait to be off, nor could I quite 
realize it even when the time came and in the cloud¬ 
less sky of an early Florida morning we, pilot and 
three passengers, with a hundred gallons of fuel, 
found ourselves flying over that marvelous blue of 
the sea of Columbus and De Soto. 

We had flown more than twenty miles, at first at 
an altitude of less than four hundred feet. MacKay 
was muttering. He could not seem to get anything 
like the full horsepower out of his Liberty engine. 

Then we saw what was wrong. The voltage reg¬ 
ulator went out! 

It was heartbreaking. Unless we could repair it 
in flight, we would be forced to turn back, perhaps 
signal a ship to shore. Here at stake was not only 
all the time we had gained, not only whether we 
would be in time at all, but, perhaps, our lives. 


CHAPTER XV 


CAPTURE 

I 

While Craig liandled the control wheel, Mac set 
desperately to work taking off the switch and in¬ 
stalling a new one. 

He succeeded. It was a load off my heart. The 
regulator was again functioning properly. On we 
flew, the compass Mac^s guide. 

New questions and fears arose in me. What else 
might we encounter? Above all, would we be in 
time? I feared for the safety of Natalie, knowing 
Gaunt as I did. 

But from the moment the regulator began to 
function properly, the flight was an exhilaration. 
We encountered no further mechanical trouble and 
the motor was almost at its full efficiency. MacKay 
had not the slightest difficulty. He was flying in 
daylight over a course he knew well from previous 
flights. Besides, the plane was lightened continu¬ 
ously of some of its early burden of fuel. 

At last we entered the Bahama air lanes. Far 
off, from our altitude, we could see a storm brewing. 

Kennedy and Mac exchanged positions at the 
wheel every half hour, more often as we approached 
Sea Isle, partly to rest, and partly to arrange their 
313 


314 ATAVAR 

schedule so that Mac would handle,the controls in 
making the landing there. We had never been at a 
very great altitude and our flying time was over 
two hours. 

We sighted the main island, Gould Town, with the 
big hotel, the New Royal, fitting into the land¬ 
scape comfortably and harmoniously. It was in 
the form of a letter E, with points protruding 
toward the sea, almost all the rooms with a view 
of the palm gardens and the ocean. Of pink cement, 
its color was changing every hour with the chang¬ 
ing light on it. Its terraces and roof gardens were 
a miniature fairyland, to us. 

On we flew over toward Sea Isle, to the south. 
There, in a cove, we sighted the Bacchante at last, 
off the small island. My excitement rose as I saw 
the yacht on which Natalie had set out hunting 
the doubloons of the sunken old Spanish galleon. 
I imagined that when Natalie had gone out to Lisle 
Manor, after the closing of ^^Astarte,” she had not 
forgotten to get the pirate map from the secret 
safety-deposit hiding place. In spite of the risk, 
she had kept it with her so that she could be ready 
to go on the expedition at any moment. 

Mac planed down to the water and we ran along 
in a rapidly lessening cloud of spray. On the Bac¬ 
chante we could see some of the sailors watching, 
attracted by the drone of our engine. We came to 
rest not far from a small boat. Craig signalled it, 
and the skipper agreed to take us over to the 
Bacchante, 

The crew did not need to tell us of the failure of 
the deep-sea apparatus to work at the required 


ATAVAR 315 

depth. It was evident. But there was something 
else wrong, also. 

^Where’s Mr. Gaunt?’’ asked Kennedy. 

“Ashore, I think,” answered the mate, doubtfully. 
“He left in the dory early this morning.” 

“And Miss Lisle?” 

There was a silence, a hostile silence. In fact 
there was a menace in the manner of the silence. 

“I don’t know!” 

No Gaunt! No Natalie! 

I thought hastily. Something must have hap¬ 
pened. Had Gaunt overstepped himself on the 
treasure hunt? Had Natalie, disgusted, incensed, in 
terror of Gaunt, fled? It was the least disquieting 
thought I had. Where was Natalie? 

The storm hovering about was now coming up 
fast. Besides, the regulator was off a bit again. 
Craig determined to return, to the hotel at Gould 
Town. There they knew everything. Perhaps there 
was some news. 

Mac taxied over to a sheltered arm of the harbor 
to anchor against the approaching storm. After¬ 
ward he would flx the troublesome regulator. 

That happened to be one of the gayest weeks of 
the season at the New Royal, a week of yachting, 
luncheons, dinners, dances, and bridge parties. One 
of His Majesty’s ships was in port. There was a tea 
dance that afternoon and a ball planned for the 
night. 

We passed through the Palm Garden. In the 
center was an open-air dance floor surrounded with 
brilliant-colored parasols which covered the tea 
tables. They were dancing in the tea garden to the 
last minute of the approaching storm. 


316 


ATAVAR 


We entered. Downstairs, just off the gardens and 
the tennis courts, was the cafe, an old stone room 
with a slate floor and a big decorative bar. Across 
the hall was the grill room, in a similar manner, 
with stone floor and cellar effect. 

The hotel had been designed by the creator of 
Ravenhall Farms. It lacked nothing in the quaint¬ 
ness of its pink stucco, severely plain exterior. In¬ 
side it was charming and cool. Delightfully obliging 
servants hovered about. Tropical plants gave color 
and interest, the bright gowns of the feminine guests 
added brilhancy. 

We passed on up to the main lobby. As we en¬ 
tered, I caught Craig^s arm. ^^Look who’s here!” 

Seated alone in a big chair before a great pillar, 
disconsolate enough, was Fay. Her beautiful eyes 
were searching each new guest in the hope of finding 
a friend. She seemed just about to have given up 
hope when her face lighted with animation at seeing 
us. To tell the truth, I don’t think Fay looked 
further than Craig and me. Otherwise Dorothy’s 
presence might have dampened her. 

Fay hastened over, clasped my hand and Craig’s 
arm, took possession of us. Dorothy’s eyes blazed, 
but for once she kept silent. She lingered behind 
with MacKay, the aviator. MacKay’s eyes were 
fairly bulging out at the sight of Fay. 

felt down and out, Walter,” Fay now laughed. 
‘T felt deserted. I was never so glad to see anyone 
in my hfe!” 

Alone?” queried Craig, in surprise. ''Where’s 
Roger?” 

"I don’t know.” Fay’s manner showed embar- 


ATAVAR 317 

rassment, showed knowledge she would rather keep 
to herself. 

^^You don’t know? Why?” persisted Craig. 

—oh—Roger had a fight with Norman—and 
Norman was told to leave the boat. Of course I 
couldn’t stay on board with Roger. It wouldn’t 
look nice.” She laughed a bit nervously. She knew 
the incongruity of such a statement. It was all 
right to be aboard with Carfax, who had a wife, but 
wrong to be aboard with Roger, who had not. The 
very naivete of Fay’s settling of the moral issue was 
an index to her simple methods of reasoning. 

“What was the fight about?” I asked. 

“There, Walter, you’ll drag the whole story out 
of me. Oh, well—Norman wanted—well, Roger de¬ 
clared finally that Norman must keep his separate 
stateroom. That didn’t suit Norman. It didn’t 
seem hke yachting, I guess, as he knew it. Any¬ 
how, they agreed to disagree. What could I do? 
I came ashore with Norman.” 

“Where’s Carfax now?” demanded Craig. 

“I don’t know. I had a fight with him and I told 
him to beat it. I left him fiat, too.” 

“Fight? Over what?” 

“A raw deal he played on me with Gordon Gaunt. 
He went to Gaunt and tried to sell me out!” 

“SeU you out?” 

“Yes—the dirty dog.” 

Behind us I could see Dorothy listening in, her 
face wreathed in a scornful smile. Norman a com¬ 
mon enemy made Dorothy almost ready to co¬ 
operate with Fay. Anything to make the breach 
wider. Anything in the world to harass her husband. 

“How?” 


318 


ATAVAR 


needed money. He went to Gaunt and prom¬ 
ised to deliver my share of the pirate treasure as 
well as his own. That would have given Gaunt 
and Natalie all of it—five-fifths. The bounder never 
said a word to me about it. He was going to clean 
up, I suppose, ditch me after that. But Gaunt is a 
slick one. He sent me a message, without letting 
Norman know, while he was dickering over the 
price.'’ 

^What did you do?" 

‘^Do? I kicked like a steer. I sent an answer 
that queered me with all of them: ^What's mine is 
mine and when I want to sell it Ill be my own 
broker. My share is worth more to me than all the 
men on Sea Isle. Maybe it's worth nothing!' 
There!" 

We laughed with and at Fay. Dorothy by this 
time had joined us. 

^Wou manage to keep that sharp tongue of yours, 
Fay." 

“I have to. I live by my tongue and my dancing 
toes!" 

Dorothy, part way around the column, had a fine 
vista of the people out in another palm garden. 
Suddenly she shot a grim glance at Fay. “There’s 
the charmer, now. I'll finish him!" 

She darted away. 

Not many feet away, between the hotel and the 
garden. Carfax stood, open mouthed, when he saw 
Dorothy. Fay laughed maliciously as he dropped 
his cigarette. 

“You here, too! I just thought I saw Kennedy—" 

“Yes, I'm here, too!" Dorothy mimicked his tone. 
“You were going to avoid Craig, eh? I saw you turn. 


ATAVAR 


319 


but I was too quick. Haven’t you got a kiss or some¬ 
thing? Aren’t you glad to see me?” She stood in 
such a way that it was impossible for him to get 
by. 

Carfax was in high anger. He turned his back 
deliberately in our direction, grasped Dorothy’s arm 
with one hand as with the other, from the side 
pocket of his sport coat, he pulled a yellow paper. 
He held it before her as he marched her off toward 
the cocoanut grove beside the hotel. Some distance 
away, alone, we could see that it was a stormy meet¬ 
ing between Dorothy and Norman Carfax. 

Carfax seemed to want to get away from the 
hotel. Dorothy, on the other hand, seemed to want 
to get away from him, now. She took a few paces 
nearer us. He followed. 

^What are you doing?” she shot back at him, bit¬ 
terly. ^^Running away from Hawtrey’s ghost? He 
owed you money—didn’t he? He wouldn’t pay, 
would he? I see trouble for you in the future! You 
might better have stuck with your wife—instead 
of running away with another woman. You’ve given 
me all the evidence I want. Your name will be in 
every paper in the country: ^Bootlegger, descendant 
of old pirate, deserted by eloping dancer!’ Nice to 
go back to the States with that publicity!” 

^‘You dare! I’U get back at you! I’ll teU the 
story of Hawtrey and you! Suppose he is dead? 
What of it? The papers will be glad to print the 
other side of the scandal.” He paused a moment, 
then leaned over and said something in a lower 
voice. All I caught was the name, ^Tnger.” 

Dorothy was now white with ariger. 

'T don’t blame her,” whispered Fay. “But, Craig, 


320 A T A V A R 

stop her. Shell get in bad here at the hotel, brawl¬ 
ing in the open.'^ 

Kennedy started to join them. But Carfax saw 
him coming, pushed Dorothy aside, and disappeared 
into the grove. 

The encounter seemed to have upset Dorothy 
completely. ‘Tnger's got a room here at the hotel. 
I must see her,” she said. ‘Til join you in a few 
minutes.” 

I looked at her closely. There seemed to be many 
unshed tears in her eyes. It would never do to 
show that weakness before her rival, even a de¬ 
throned rival. Fay, however, was not watching 
Dorothy so keenly. MacKay had come up. Fay 
had a new interest in hfe. 

As I watched Dorothy's hasty departure and re¬ 
called the stormy meeting with her husband, I had 
my first glint of real hope in the Hawtrey mystery. 
When criminals fall out, I thought, mayhap honest 
men might learn the truth. 

Who was guilty? Had it been Roger—and 
Natalie, as I at first had feared? I veered now 
toward Carfax and Dorothy. 

Fay and MacKay wandered off. Craig and I were 
watching the now rapidly approaching storm and 
the people in the hotel. 

The main lobby of the New Royal was replete 
with decorations of a maritime character and of 
much higher order of merit than is usually found 
in a hotel. A sculptured group, ‘^Blackboard Bury¬ 
ing His Treasure,” by a famous New York sculptor, 
murals depicting the landing of Columbus and other 
historic scenes, paintings everywhere in the Palm 
Room, one huge canvas over the bar. 


ATAVAR 321 

“Prosperity brought by amendment!^’ observed 
Craig. 

We gazed into the Palm Room with its vaulted 
ceiling and stone floor, opening out on the dancing 
porch, to the north. To the south was the huge 
ballroom, ready for the night. Then there was the 
aquarium, just ofl the lobby, made like an undersea 
cave, with every variety of tropical fish. Over the 
main stairway was an amusing “Mappe of Ye 
Bahama Islands.” 

We stood in the closed portico at the head of the 
lane to the landing when at last the storm broke. 

It was inspiring. One could see the darkness of 
the sky merging with the turbulent waters of the 
ocean beyond the harbor. Huge waves piled one on 
another, breaking and struggling as if in an endeavor 
to eflace the very horizon. 

Beyond the harbor a darkness as of night had 
settled over everything. Nearer, the peculiar golden 
gleam, a yellow haze, often preceding a wild storm, 
bathed the rosy stucco hotel and homes with a weird 
brilliance. 

“Nature is as full of pent-up passion as that little 
group of people we have followed here,” exclaimed 
Kennedy. “What an orgy of emotion is in that 
crowd, like a reservoir, ready to burst through the 
dam of civilization and carry them back to times 
when strong passions instead of strong self-con¬ 
trol ruled!” 

A gust of wind swept from the sea. The golden 
light vanished. Boats strained at their anchors, 
wildly and vainly. Then the torrential rain. It 
was like a cloudburst. 

Struggling up the path, fighting the elements at 


322 


ATAVAR 


every step, head bent forward to protect his face 
from the whipping rain, came a man enveloped in a 
New England oilskin. 

Gaining the shelter of the portico, he shook him¬ 
self like a wet dog. He stood erect. It was Roger 
Gerard. 

Craig sprang forward to greet him, full of ques¬ 
tions. Roger peered anxiously at us and whispered, 
hoarsely, ^'Where’s Natalie?'' 

“Not here, Roger," hastened Craig. “Isn't she 
with Gaunt^—or you?" 

“Not with me. I saw this storm coming up. I 
have been searching all over for her." 

He threw off his dripping oilskins. “Well, this is 
mighty satisfactory to find you fellows here I Two 
more friends on my side! And I need you." He 
drew himself up. “I want Natalie—and a minister 1" 

Roger seemed somehow a different Roger, less 
morbid, more master of things. He seemed like a 
man with a set purpose. 

I saw Kennedy studying him. Finally Craig 
touched his arm. “Tell me, Roger." 

There was a wealth of meaning in the clear, direct 
gaze of Roger as he drew us down the now secluded 
portico. “Well, to begin with," he said, slowly, 
reminiscently, “I came down here with Fay and 
Carfax. But the laxity of Carfax disgusted me. I 
objected and they left the NomadJ^ 

“Fay is here," I interrupted, nodding back at the 
hotel. “She has dumped Carfax overboard, too.” 

A grunt of satisfaction, a grunt and silence. 

“Go on, Roger," urged Craig, quietly. 

“What a night!" Roger seemed looking back 
thoughtfully as over a vista of country just tra- 


ATAVAR 323 

versed. “I have been as happy as heaven. Now I 
feel—like hell.^^ 

I gasped to myself. Was this Roger? 

He seemed to want to tell it as quickly as he 
could. He took Kennedy's arm. went out in my 
tender, the fastest thing I couldi (get, to where 
Natalie was anchored on the Bacchante, last night. 
Everything was quiet aboard. Natalie was sitting 
on deck in a rug over a steamer chair, with a book. 
She must have been dozing. Gaunt was below. 
I saw her in the deck light. 

‘‘I took two good reliable husky fellows from my 
crew, fellows that love a little mill. I made it all 
plain before we started. We had no lights. We 
slowed down the engine as we neared the Bacchante, 
almost shut it o£P entirely before we touched her. I 
told one of them to stay at the wheel, to get away 
in a hurry. It was only a few seconds before my 
mate and I were aboard. I crept softly up behind 
Natalie. As I came up to her chair, quickly I threw 
over her the steamer rug. It muffled her cries. But 
I picked her up, book and all. 

^^Just then Gaunt stepped out of the companion- 
way. I passed her, kicking like a colt, to the mate, 
who passed her down to the other man in the speed 
boat." Roger straightened, with a sharp intake of 
breath. I knew he was thinking of that encounter 
several nights before in the shrubbery. *^I landed 
on Gaunt's jaw. He reeled back, down the steps. 
I closed the door, jammed it with my knife, on the 
outside. There was an outcry of the crew. Two 
men started across the deck. I jumped to the boat. 
We were off!" He glowed as he lived it over. ‘T 
didn't need to tell my men what to do. Speed! 


324 


ATAVAR 


Gaunt, bleeding, stuck his head through a porthole 
and emptied an automatic at us. The tender got 
some of it; not much. Speed and darkness saved 
us!’^ 

Roger’s face was tense. ^T pulled Natalie down 
on a seat by me, untangled the rug. She had stopped 
fighting me by this time. There was fright and 
wonderment in her eyes. I wasn’t at all gentle with 
her. To tell the truth, I suppose I acted like one 
possessed of the devil. I could feel her trembhng 
with fear. But the warmth of her gave me the reck¬ 
lessness of—of a pirate! 

“I said nothing soothing to her. Only growled, 
^Keep quiet!’ as we changed our course. All the 
time I was urging more speed and holding her close.” 
He stopped. ^The first time I had ever dared to 
do it!” 

Roger stopped again, a smile now on his weary 
face. ‘Tinally we reached the Nomad. One of the 
men heard us coming and helped us up the side with 
Natalie. She didn’t seem to know just what to 
do—only looked at me pleadingly. I didn’t notice 
her much, but I led her to my own big cabin which 
I had already fixed up as nearly as I could like a 
girl’s boudoir.” 

I pictured it, hastily rearranged, refitted into a 
rather incongruous room with feminine belongings 
scattered among those expressive of Roger himself. 

He went on. ‘‘She looked about as she entered. 
‘Only one entrance, Roger?’ she asked. I nodded, 
and was about to step in, too. But she slammed 
the door in my face. I heard the key turn and a 
bolt shde. . . . 

“She had been timid, apparently troubled at first. 


ATAVAR 


325 


I still left her to her thoughts. When women lock 
themselves in they usually want a man to burst 
the door down, something—disappointed if they 
don’t. Thoughts alone are great chasteners. I let 
her think. Then I had hopes, too. As the night 
shadows deepened, might not the ^night mania’ suf¬ 
fuse her soul? . . . 

tried to sleep, but I couldn’t. I was burning 
up. Never before had I realized the full intensity 
of being a man. I was stifling in that bunk. I 
couldn’t lie still. ... You see, it was the first time 
I had ever stolen a girl.” 

I would have laughed at Roger’s original way of 
putting it but for his intensity. 

^‘Finally, I went to Natalie’s room . . . and 
tapped. No answer. I waited a minute and called 
softly, ^Natalie—it’s Roger!”’ 

I could well imagine Natalie as Roger tapped on 
the door, straightening. Should she bid him enter? 
As she hesitated, it seemed as if a film hazed over 
her eyes. Gradually, swiftly, strange phantasma¬ 
goria took shape. 

It was the final struggle of Natalie in which in¬ 
carnated all the powers of the animal ages, all the 
forces of right in conflict with the powers of evil. 
As the grotesque forces of darkness swept Natalie, 
who seemed to be the prize, into their grasp and 
were bearing her ofi captive, Natalie watched with 
palpitating heart. 

Roger knocked again, called. She swept them 
all imperiously aside. The vision faded. 

^^Slowly,” went on Roger, himself slowly, ^The bolt 
shd back, the key turned. I waited for no more. 
I flung the door wide. There she stood in the diaph- 


326 


ATAVAR 


anous drapery of her negligee—irresistible—Natalie 
—^but not Natalie. It was the glorious night 
Natalie! 

put my arms out to her. She hesitated—took 
one step forward. That was enough. I had her— 
swept her into my arms in a glorious kiss of passion. 
I lifted her slight figure close to mine. She clung 
to me. I kissed her lips, her white throat. I almost 
strangled her in the fervid outpouring of my love. . . 

‘‘But she was unafraid. I carried her, clinging, 
white arms about my neck, my lips pressed to hers, 
her filmy draperies floating about her. I pressed her 
back gently. Her arms stiU clung tight. ... It was 
consent. . . . She was mine—mine to love and care 
for . . 

“When I let her go, it was an awakened Natalie. 
She was gentle, gentle and loving. But it had been 
too much for her naturally refined sensibilities. . . . 
She has gone!^^ 

There was tragedy in the tone of the last three 
words. He did not know, either, of the wireless mes¬ 
sage to Craig in New York. Would Natalie do for 
Roger what she had threatened to do for Gaunt 
if he molested her? 

“Gone?^’ exclaimed Kennedy, “How?^’ 

“She asked me to get her something. I went into 
the main saloon to get it. I left her a moment. She 
was alone. When I came back she was nowhere 
about! The cedar skiff that was bobbing at the end 
of the boom was gone. She was gone. She must 
have drawn it in, shpped quietly to it with one of 
my suitcases filled quickly with things that I bought 
to be ready for this abduction—gone with the 
steamer rug and the book! I looked out over the 


ATAVAR 327 

water. But I couldn’t see her. We searched in the 
tender. But there was no trace!” 

He stared helplessly at Craig. ‘Wou remember 
the storm this morning, early—or didn’t it strike 
you over on the mainland?” Kennedy shook his 
head. ‘‘I have been hunting for her ever since. But 
I can’t find her. Oh, Natalie, I want you 1 I want 
you! . . . Did I do right, after all? What must her 
thoughts of me be!” 

‘This must be the same storm sweeping about in 
a circle,” observed Kennedy placing his hand on 
Roger’s shoulder. “Brace up. We will help you 
find her.” 

“But, Craig. What of Gaunt? Do you suppose 
he is hunting her, too? He has been balked in his 
desires. He will be relentless in his pursuit of 
Natalie. God keep her from him. . . . Let me get 
to her—in time!” 

Calmly Craig moved his hand on Roger’s shoulder. 
“I think I see more than you do, Roger. Natalie 
will not only fight for herself this time—^but for 
you. She will keep herself safe—^for you. Now 
she is true to herself!” 

II 

We did not then know that silently, in the night, 
in the skiff that she had drawn in so hastily from 
the boom, Natalie had paddled toward another of 
the smaller islands. The sky was dark and overcast. 
There was not a star. Suddenly the darkness was 
pierced, cleft by a forked streak of blinding light. 
Then came the low rumble of distant thunder. 

She redoubled her efforts, nervous now. She was 
almost exhausted. But fear gave her the added 


328 


ATAVAR 


strength she needed as she pulled toward the island, 
every ounce of remaining strength in the flight to 
escape the twisting storm which now, the second 
day, we were witnessing. But as Roger looked out 
over the water—nothing! 

What had happened to Natalie, at least a part 
of it, we did not then know, but I think now I should 
teU. 

Upon the rocky shore at the extreme south end 
of the next island was a cave, the opening of which 
was upon the sea. It was the cavern of the pirates. 

The cave was about ten feet wide and high, of 
irregular shape, and extended back into the rock 
formation some forty or flfty feet. It had evidently 
been excavated by the ceaseless erosion of the waves 
upon a portion of the rock somewhat softer than its 
surroundings. 

At high tide the entire fore part of the cave was 
under water. But at low tide it could be entered 
dry shod, for then it was entirely above sea level. 
The bottom of the cave was covered by coarse 
sand, five or six inches deep, which was on a com¬ 
pact bed of hard blue clay. 

On the rock at the inner end of the cave were some 
marks or indentations in the form of a rude cross. 
The edges of this cross were rounded and worn as 
if by the action of the waves and tide. 

Natalie pulled for the opening of this little cave 
to which she had gone with Guy Hawtrey and 
Roger, it seemed ages ago. The current had drifted 
her little light skiff nearer to it than she was aware, 
and now with the incoming tide she had no difficulty 
in making a landing in it. 

Clad only in her filmy clothes, but protected by 


ATAVAR 


329 


a greatcoat of Roger’s which she had hastily put on 
as she left the yacht, she gathered up the things 
from the bottom of the boat where she had tossed 
them. Exhausted by the paddling to escape the 
storm, humiliated at her own weakness in loving 
Roger so intensely, she wanted to get away from 
everybody. Just to be alone and safe, there seemed 
no better place than this cave at high tide. 

Her suitcase she threw up on the sandy floor of 
the cavern out of reach of the lapping water. Tug¬ 
ging at the steamer rug and clasping the book, she 
walked up and into the inner recesses of the cave. 
In the flashes of lightning she searched for the last 
and highest hne of debris thrown up by the tide. 
When she found it she felt safe to make herself 
comfortable. 

She looked about and saw evidences that other 
people had been there recently. On a rock was an 
old candle in a bottle, and in a rock ledge, a sort 
of shelf, above, a couple of others, unused. She felt 
in the pocket of the greatcoat. There were some 
matches in a box. This was better than she had 
thought. At least she would be provided with con¬ 
tinuous light in place of the intermittent flashes of 
lightning. She lighted the stump of candle. The 
feeble rays showed driftwood on the sand above the 
water mark, dry. She could warm herself, too, if 
need be, cook, if she only had something to cook. 
She smiled to herself as she remembered the wood¬ 
craft cave she had built when as a young girl she 
had run away from school and hved on the estate, 
poaching. 

Wearily but carefully she spread the rug out on 
the sand and sank down on it almost immediately. 


330 


ATAVAR 


The flickering candlelight made grotesque figures 
on the uneven walls. Outside now the storm lashed 
higher. She suddenly bethought herself of the book. 
She opened it mechanically. But she did not read. 
She was too overwrought, too played out. Her last 
impression was of the book as she dropped off into 
the forgetfulness of sheer exhaustion, the suitcase 
her improvised pillow. 

She dreamed. She saw herself as Gel, fleeing with 
Dag through the woods, the ravines, over the moun¬ 
tains, to their cave in those far-off neolithic days. 
There had been a bloody battle, but Dag had won 
over his human enemies as he had over the saber¬ 
tooth, everything. Now they reached the entrance 
to their cave in the hill. She was the mate of Dag. 
Could it be? Yes—Dag's face was the face of 
Roger! Dag held her, kissed her—the consumma¬ 
tion of human happiness, love requited. 

The candle burned down and flickered out in the 
bottle. 

Meanwhile, though she did not know it. Gaunt 
was searching, rampaging angrily, seeking Natalie 
tirelessly, relentlessly. . . . 

Came the next day. But it was not dawn. It 
had been near dawn when she had fallen asleep in 
the storm. It was now past noon. She looked down 
at her feet. The boat was safe. But it was still in 
the water. The tide had gone out, had risen again. 
It was nearly twelve hours since she had sunk down 
there asleep! 

She looked out of the cave. Far off she could 
make out another storm oncoming. Or was it the 
same one? At least she would not dare venture out 
in that frail skiff with such a warning. 


ATAVAR 331 

She felt refreshed, rested. She sat down on the 
steamer rug and looked out through the cave open¬ 
ing on the changing color of the sea under the on¬ 
coming clouds. Her eye rested again on the book 
where it had fallen, lying open, the night before. 
She had been marking passages in it that evening 
on the Bacchante before she had been carried away 
by Roger. All through the voyage down she had 
kept it, held on to it through the abduction after¬ 
ward. She did not know why. Craig had given it 
to her the last time she saw him. 

She opened it and read again the very first short 
paragraph on the first page which she had under¬ 
scored deeply: 

Civilization is a burden as well as a benefit. The burden 
of progress has begun to weigh upon mankind. 

It was an advance copy of a book on which Ken¬ 
nedy, unknown to me, had been at work for over 
a year —The Weight of Civilization. 

It grew more overcast outside, darker in the cave. 
She fitted one of the fresh candles into the old bot¬ 
tle, lighted it, read on in the flickering light: 

In psychology we have studied the human mind, divided its 
functions into Intellect, Peeling, and Will. 

So, the nineteenth century and after, up until 1914, which 
was the century when the race made its greatest single ad¬ 
vance of this era, was ruled by Intellect. Then came the 
war. From then on for the short space of four years. Will 
ruled. Since that time, we have been ruled by Feeling. 
Rank emotionalism, mostly hate, has been rampant. . . . 

It has even gone so far that emotionalism is attacking 
science in our education. Over a good part of our land it is 
all but a crime to teach the thoughts of evolution, one of the 
profoundest advances made by nineteenth century science. 


332 


ATAVAR 


Freedom of speech and action have suffered severely. Is 
freedom of thought next to go ? 

When are we going to get back to Intellect again? That 
is the only thing worthy of us in this advanced state of scien¬ 
tific civilization. Feeling and Will have destroyed much of 
the advance of Intellect—in fact almost aU the nineteenth 
century advance in some fields. A wave of superstition is 
sweeping over the world. 

Craig’s words accorded with her mood, accorded 
with that mood in which the closing of ^^Astarte” 
had left her. She began picking out sentences with 
restless eye as she sketched through the pages: 

Civilization depends on quality—and quality depends on 
inheritance. . . . Environment brings out all there is in a 
man. . . . But heredity predetermines what there is to bring 
out. 

She stopped a minute to think on this new pre¬ 
destination of heredity as opposed to the free will 
of environment. It seemed the absolute, exact, 
infallible scientific fatalism. 

The idea of heredity focused her wavering atten¬ 
tion, as it always did. She read: 

May there not come a time when the youthful traveler will 
be unable to scale the height . . . where the effort required 
will be beyond his powers? Well, this is precisely what has 
happened numberless times in the past. It is happening to 
multitudes of individuals about us every day I 

To her? A light seemed to be breaking on her 
as she read on: 

As civilization advances many are left behind who cannot 
keep pace. . . . They are not degenerates. They are “primi¬ 
tives.” Not imbecile, feeble-minded, neurotic, insane; merely 
inferior I 


ATAVAR 


333 


Natalie started. It was not at the peal of thun¬ 
der re-echoing in the cavern. It was at the idea. 
^'Am I a ^primitive'?” she asked herself. ‘‘An in¬ 
ferior—or a superior?’^ She thought. Which had 
been Hawtrey; which was Gaunt, Dorothy, Fay, 
Kennedy—Roger? 

She read on a succeeding page: 

To wild natures society is torment. The congenital cave¬ 
man placed in civilization is always in trouble and usually 
in jail. 

She smiled. There was part of her answer. Some 
one of these was dangerously close to that. 

Each of us has within him an “Under Man,” that primitive 
animality which is the heritage of our human, even our pre¬ 
human, past. This Under Man may be buried deep in the 
recesses of our being—^but he is there—and psychoanalysis 
informs us of his latent power. 

She stopped short, thought, thought back over 
what she had been absorbing. . . . Then again, 
toward the end, she read: 

The human race was wound up several million years ago 
by a pow’er above us. It is on its way. What its destination 
is, it does not know. Perhaps it shall not know for another 
million years. 

Then down at the bottom of the page, under¬ 
scored : 

But one thing we know, because it is fundamental, unes- 
capable. The future of the race rests on whether woman can 
carry the weight of civilization* 

She turned the concluding pages, looking at other 
markings she had made, came to some thoughts on 
mating. She read with a new understanding. 


334 


ATAVAR 


Those who mate, those are the real superiors—^mate and 
have children. Those who do not mate, have no children, 
those are, in one sense, throw-backs—throwing themselves 
back into the vast army of inferiors, those crushed by the 
weight of civilization. 

It made her think of Kennedy's talk to her. That 
was what Craig had meant. It was nothing un¬ 
kindly. It was the highest of kindliness. She saw 
it, felt it now, respected it. ‘^Am I—an atavar," 
she cried, aloud, ^^that sort of atavar?" 

Was civilization dying at the top? 

Swept over her what it had all been about, why 
Kennedy had so vividly recalled the days of her 
grandfather and her grandmother . . . why he had 
let her come back to this Sea Isle, this Sea Isle of 
over two centuries past in her life . . . swept over 
her why in that cave last night she had dreamed 
the dream of Gel and Dag. 

She was atavar. 

In her the race must go on. She? No. They 
were atavars . . . she . . . Roger . . . the race 
. . . civilization itself! 

Came the vivid lightning and crash of thunder of 
the storm at its height. Natalie, wide awake, hved 
over the dream of Dag and Gel fleeing in the 
storm .... 

Slowly she closed the book, smihng tenderly. 
Then an intake of breath. What would have hap¬ 
pened if she had married Craig? What an awful 
mistake it would have been! Since last night— 
she knew. There could be no other but Roger. 

In the darkness and silence, with no one to see 
her or judge her save God, she lay back, eyes star¬ 
ing up into the vaulted ceiling of the cave—thinking 


ATAVAR 


335 


of Roger. What a fool she had been! How tender 
he could be—but—how strong and daring, too. Hot 
waves of emotion pulsed through her. 

She shut her eyes at the thought. But actually 
she was wishing Roger was with her. How wicked 
she was! But still, to her turbulent thoughts it did 
not seem wicked, in the cabin of the yacht, hours 
ago, with her head on Roger’s arm, feeling his strong 
breathing. She had kissed him. It would be nice 
to touch him now. She put out her hand—and drew 
it back with a shudder. Only the feel of damp 
sand. . . . 

She thought again of the Dag dream, with a 
start. She belonged, then, to Roger, ages ago. It 
was a comforting thought. He had won, then, 
triumphed over them all. He would do so again. 
She would wait for her lover. 

She opened the book again and tried to read. 
It wouldn’t do for her to think too much. She must 
talk things over first with Roger. He would make 
it right with her with the precious gift of his love 
for herself. Would he never come? She could not 
read. 

^Dh—Roger! Come—find me—take me home— 
and make me your wife! I want you so—I want to 
rest in the safety of your love!” 

She was standing, restless. Outside Natalie could 
hear the wild crashes of thunder. For an instant 
the lightning glare would illumine the cavern. Her 
whole soul now seemed attuned with the storm. 
Over her she felt this new spell cast. She paced the 
sand, wildly, fiercely, longingly, calling for Roger. 

Suddenly she seemed to hear him. 

The swirling waves and a rush of wind swept a 


336 ATAVAR 

boat, dexterously guided, in through the mouth of 
the cave. 

In it was Gaunt—alone. . . . 
thought I’d find you here!” 

Natalie looked at him, terror-stricken, sick at 
heart in disappointment at seeing him instead of 
Roger. 

^‘Are you ready to go away with me?” 

^'But, Gordon, what about the treasure?” she 
temporized. 

^Treasure—^rot! You’re really what I came for 
and you know it. I’m going to have you! ” 

Gaunt laughed recklessly as he pulled up his boat. 
Always before he had been immaculate. Now his 
hair was hanging about his face, wind-blown; his 
eyes were wild, his clothes creased and soiled. 

Over and over Natahe prayed to herself. ‘^Help 
me! Please come—Roger! 0 God—^helpme! What 
can I do?” 

^What are you so quiet about?” smirked Gaunt. 
^Afraid of me—your best friend?” Again that dev¬ 
ilish laugh. He seemed to be taking his time, draw¬ 
ing her agony out to the very limit. 

^^Gordon—you look like—like a pirate, too!” 
Natalie laughed hysterically. 

^‘I am one—a pirate of hearts! You see this cave? 
Look at those marks.” He pointed to the cross, then 
down under it. ^There is where other pirates buried 
their treasure box years ago. That was the treasure 
your pirate ancestor. Sir Richard Carfax, the Pious 
Pirate, with his lieutenant Hawtrey, saved from the 
mutinous crew under my ancestor, Captain John 
Gaunt.” 

He pointed under the rude cross where had been 


ATAVAR 337 

the iron box in which had been hidden the loot, the 
foundation of the Carfax fortune carried off to Eng¬ 
land in those far away days. Natalie was too fright¬ 
ened to answer. Gaunt unconsciously assumed a 
blustering, swaggering pose. Was the past surging 
about him, too? 

Another hard laugh as he leered at Natalie. '^Our 
ancestors fought over money. But I am going to 
fight for you—^you—your love! This time a Gaunt 
will win!’^ 

^^How did you know about this cave, Gordon?” 
Natalie asked it weakly, anything to stay him in 
his course. To herself she cried, ‘^Oh, if Roger would 
only come!” 

‘^AU the crooks used it,” he returned, bitterly. 
^This year's rum-runners and past years' pi¬ 
rates . . . both out for gold and excitement. Haw- 
trey used this place. I heard of it from him. He 
told me once about a picnic you and he and Roger 
had here. . . . We'll have a picnic for two, shall 
we, Natalie, dear?” He took a step forward, put 
out his hand. 

Natalie was out of his reach. She turned, hesi¬ 
tated a minute, lightly dodged, then leaped on a 
huge flat boulder lying loose in the very rear of the 
cave. 

Gaunt leaned back in laughter, bending his knees, 
stooping and leering again. His torture of her was 
like a giant cat's. 

^^Why did Hawtrey use this place?” Natalie tried 
to divert him. 

‘'Store booze, load it, hide all kinds of evidence. 
I financed Hawtrey in his rum-running through the 
Export & Import National Bank. I know what I 


338 ATAVAR 

am talking about. Come, how did you get away 
from sweet Roger?^' 

Natalie's eyes flashed. But she strove to concili¬ 
ate. stole away in a skiff. I came here." 

‘^Does he know where you are?" demanded Gaunt. 

She did not want to answer. If she said '‘No," 
that would embolden him. She hesitated to say 
"Yes." He would be desperate. 

"You don't answer!" he laughed. "You don't 
want me to know that you can't expect much help 
from him—or Kennedy, either. Is that it, Natahe?" 
He paused, then: "But you never can be sure. I 
might as well tell you what a nice little girl you 
are—while I have a good chance!" 

He reached for her. 

When she had turned, Natalie had grabbed the 
bottle holding the candle, had concealed it behind 
her. Now she raised it high above her head, brought 
it down with all her strength. Gaunt moved just 
enough so that it struck and broke on his shoulder. 
She lost her balance and fell at his feet. He winced 
at the sting of the gash, saw the blood flowing from 
his shoulder, and with a furious curse leaned down. 
He had her in his arms. 

"Roger! Roger! Roger! . . . Help!" 

Natalie's scream filled the lonely cave. Gaunt 
laughed. Natalie sank into unconsciousness. . . . 

Ill 

It was almost at the height of the storm that 
Craig, Roger, and I approached the desk at the New 
Royal. Craig had an inquiry to make and fell into 
conversation with the clerk. 

"Do you know these Carfaxes?" asked the clerk. 


ATAVAR 


339 


^Tor a reason, I have brought Mrs. Carfax down 
to Sea Isle,” Craig answered. ^^She is seeking evi¬ 
dence against her husband, and I am watching him 
also.” 

‘^Something the police are mixed up in?” the 
clerk asked. ‘‘You know we can’t have any raw 
stuff pulled off here. Hurt the hotel.” He had been 
an old hand at New York hotels. 

“Trust me,” reassured Kennedy. “I want every¬ 
thing as quiet as you do. It is most important. The 
good name of a young lady is at stake.” 

The clerk looked sharply. “Anyone here?” Craig 
shook his head. “Well,” went on the clerk, “I want 
to tell you something, Mr. Kennedy. That man 
Carfax has intercepted a cablegram to you—plainly 
speaking, has stolen it. When you didn’t get here, 
answer the boy paging for you, he did some hocus- 
pocus, posed as you, got it.” 

“What do you suppose it wa^, Craig?” I asked. 
“From whom?” 

Kennedy thought a moment. “It must have been 
from Leslie—^his third degree, as I laid it out for 
him, scientifically, before I left—that taxi driver, 
Haupt.” 

I saw now that that must have been why Carfax 
had avoided Craig. Where was Carfax? The clerk, 
to square the hotel management, engaged to locate 
him wherever he was on the island. As for the cable, 
he would have it repeated from the island office 
where it had been received. 

“If he comes in. I’ll hold him,” the clerk added. 

“He won’t be back,” I put in. “For two reasons. 
His wife is here and the news in that cable will prob¬ 
ably keep him away.” 


340 


ATAVAR 


The clerk smiled. “That Mrs. Carfax is a good 
looker. What's the matter with her?" 

“Matter with her? Why?" asked Craig. 

“Why, when she went by a few minutes ago I 
heard her muttering, talking to herself. I listened. 
I thought she was a nut. We have to be on the 
lookout." 

“Did you hear anything?" 

“She said over and over: ^Humph! That spur— 
eh? That spur, eh? Well see about that spur!' 
Yes, sir, I thought she was a nut, talking to her¬ 
self. But I didn't stop her going up to the room 
she wanted. By the way, who is this Miss Inger 
Dean? She registered from New York, said she 
came off the yacht Bacchante. I suppose the storm 
was too much for her." 

Kennedy answered. “We know her. Surely. 
Gordon Gaunt owns that yacht. She was one of his 
party." 

We were arranging for rooms for ourselves, al¬ 
though Roger had eyes for nothing but the weather 
and thoughts only of when Craig would join him 
in his search. 

There was a shot. It was not thunder. There 
was no confounding the two. This was in the hotel. 
No more followed. But there was instant commo¬ 
tion, an outpouring of excited guests from tea rooms, 
griU, a chattering of questions, a sudden damper on 
the merriment. 

I had been thinking of Dorothy's muttering, “The 
spur!" What spur? I had thought of the golden 
spur instantly, Hawtrey's gift to Natalie. What 
had Natalie done that night of the murder? Had 
she really gone with Hawtrey? Or had she left him 


ATAVAR 


341 


and fled in another cab, as she said? The shot, the 
excitement, got my mind off the spur, Natalie's 
ornament which Craig had picked up in Hawtrey's 
bedroom the morning after the murder. 

Down the main stairway to the lobby, white 
faced, trembling, ran Inger. She looked desperately 
about. Then she caught sight of Craig at the desk. 

^^Mr. Kennedy! It's Dorothy Carfax! In my 
room! She tried to kill herself! Something her hus¬ 
band found out from me! She's dying! Get a doc¬ 
tor—quick!" 

The clerk pounded the bell, sent out a squad of 
boys to hunt the house physician, calling, ^^Doctor 
Walker! Doctor Walker!'^ 

Craig and I followed the nervous Inger. ^Tn my 
room," she repeated, leading the way. ^^She came 
up to see me." 

‘'How did you get here, Inger?" asked Craig, as 
we followed. 

“Everybody had left the boat. Just a few of the 
crew aboard. I saw this storm, got them to put me 
ashore." 

We had come to Inger's room. The door stood 
open. But I hated to look in. I knew too well what 
I would see. Yes, there across the foot of the bed, 
her beautiful face now pale and quiet, lay Dorothy 
Carfax. 

Doctor Walker hurried down the hall, in, and bent 
over her. 

“Is she—dead?" I whispered, my eyes on the blood 
soaking into the white counterpane. 

He turned and lowered his voice. “Not yet. She'U 
live a short time. Past help." 


342 


ATAVAR 


Dorothy opened her eyes. Her senses were keen 
enough to hear that. 

glad. I don't want to live!" 

Then I saw that with her fast-faihng strength she 
was clutching a man's Norfolk jacket, close to her 
heart. With the simplicity, the pathos of a child, 
she had placed the arms about her neck before she 
fired. On the fioor now where it had fallen from 
her hand I saw an automatic. 

^Whose coat, Inger?" I whispered. 

Inger was sobbing now, couldn’t answer. But 
Dorothy answered weakly, with a flitting smile. 

‘^Guy's! I knew it the minute I saw it! . . . 
That hole in the sleeve. ... I burnt it with my cig¬ 
arette when he leaned over to kiss me ... on our 
first trip. ... I didn’t mean to. . . . He made me 
pay. ... I had to kiss him twice for it. . . ." She 
stopped, closed her eyes. 

I looked toward Inger. She nodded in her sobs. 
^^Yes. It was Guy Hawtrey's. I took it with me 
when I left. I—" 

Then pinned to the coat I saw that Craig had 
found a paper. He loosened it and read. On it 
Dorothy Carfax had written in her hasty, bold, ver¬ 
tical hand: 

^^Norman Carfax sold me to Guy Hawtrey for 
money.—^Norman Carfax is the real murderer!" 

There was a hard glint in Craig’s eyes as he mut¬ 
tered. ‘That cad. Carfax!" 

I heard my name, softly. “Walter!" I knelt 
at Dorothy’s side and whispered: “Don’t use up 
your stren^h, little girl. I’m close enough to hear!" 
She seemed to understand that I knew she was 
fighting for time to tell what happened. 


ATAVAR 343 

“I^m going fast. ... Set me right with the world, 
Walter. ... Tell my story, truly, in your paper. . . 

I pressed her hand gently for answer. 

Slowly as it seemed the past reeled before her. 
She murmured, brokenly. ''Jealousy, heartache, 
made me drink that first time I met you, Walter. 
... I couldn’t give my love, my life away . . . 
without one final struggle. . . . 

"I followed him ... to the Gilded Lily that 
night. . .. Then, in disgust... an idea ... I went to 
his house . . . let myself in . . . with my key. ... In 
his room ... I put on the silk night clothes . . . and 
waited ... for him. ... If he brought that 
woman!” 

Doctor Walker shook his head gravely. I whis¬ 
pered. ^Try to tell it cahnly, Dorothy, for your 
sake.” 

Bit by bit now as she gasped it out I saw what 
had happened on "Astarte” night. Natalie had really 
got away from Hawtrey on the trip up from the 
Pirates’ Cave on Eighth Avenue. ’V^ile they were 
at the Gilded Lily, Dorothy had let herself into the 
Hawtrey town house, got into the silk Billie Burkes, 
to wait for Hawtrey, if he came in with Natalie. 
My mind ran ahead of her story. I recalled. A shot 
actually did kiU Hawtrey. But the methyl alcohol 
was intended to kill, would have killed him. 

"Then Hawtrey brought no girl home with him?” 

"No ... a man!” 

I thought. We knew, but she did not, that already 
the drink had been poisoned. She might even have 
drunk a little of it. She might have been one of 
those nearly immune. It might only have made her 


344 


ATAVAR 


feel a bit ill. Hawtrey had been dying already. 
Who, then, was the real murderer? 

“A man?’^ asked Kennedy, in a gentle tone. “Who 
was the man, Dorothy 

“He does not know I know. . . . Gordon Gaunt. 
. . . They drank together. . . . Words over Natahe. 
Gaunt left. . . 

She was doing her best now to get out the whole 
story, realizing that the time was short. 

“Then I appeared ... in the silk kimono over 
the Billie Burkes. . . . Guy was surprised. ... I 
kissed him. ... He was . . . tolerant. . . not like the 
old times.” 

It was broken by a sob from Inger. “I know how 
it feels, Dorothy!” 

“You know Guy . . . big, good-natured . . . saw 
I had been drinking. . . . ^You need something to 
eat, Dot,^ he said. ... I tried to recall the cozy old 
times . . . the chafing dish, the percolator, the china. 
. . . He . . . the bottle . . . and the two glasses. 
... I did not drink any more. ... I wanted to win 
him back. . . . 

“I sat on the arm of his chair . . . tried to put 
my arm about his neck. ... But there was no sign 
of love from him. ... It was gone! ... He was 
reserved, formal. I cried. Then he was tender. . . . 
It encouraged me. ... I tried again. . . . The same 
reserve. . . . ^Dorothy, I’m through with all that!’ 
... I was in a rage. I swore ... I kicked . . .1 
raved. . . . Then he laughed . . . supercilious. . . 
I saw red. ... I couldn’t stand that. ... I fired!” 

She was using up what little strength she had. 
She sank back. “Then I sobered. . . . Blood! . . . 
Frantically I flung my arms about him. . . . 'Guy, 


ATAVAR 345 

speak to me! Forgive me!^ More blood ... on 
me. ... It was too late.I had done it!’^ 

So, as her strength ebbed, bit by bit, I pieced it 
together. Dorothy had slipped on her clothes in 
a hurry, had started to get away. But, outside, she 
had stopped, thought. No one was awake. She 
heard no one. She thought, ^‘1 forgot that gun!’^ 
Then she had let herself back in again with her 
key—which she now forgot and left in the lock. She 
had hidden the gun upstairs in a place under the 
closet floor under the matting which she remem¬ 
bered. She had folded up the Billie Burkes, laid 
them back on the chiffonier. Next she had stuck 
the blood-stained kimono in the ash chute from the 
kitchen range down to the cellar. The hot ashes 
would burn it I 

“Then ... I thought of the spur . . . dropped it 
. . . in .his bedroom. ... I fled . . ” 

Kennedy looked from Dorothy in her ebbing 
weakness to Inger. 

“This is awful, Mr. Kennedy,” sobbed Inger. “I 
forgive her. I^m sorry I told her husband . . . ever. 
... I saw her take that spur from Miss Lisle^s 
dressing room, the night of the premiere, ... I 
didn't know whether to say anything. ... I hated 
them . . . both! They had stolen my Guy from 
me! But on the yacht. Miss Lisle was so kind to 
me. I couldn't see her suffer. Then I heard Mr. 
Gaunt was going to hold it over her. I said to 
myself I'd tell you. But I didn't see you. I told 
Mr. Carfax. . . . He . ..'' She broke off, crying. 

I could well believe it now of Dorothy, angry at 
Norman Carfax and Fay that night, bitter at Natalie 
and Hawtrey. The spur had been a gift from Haw- 


ATAVAR 


346 

trey to Natalie, too. She must have thought with 
an indistinct, instinctive reason, when she took it, 
that she might use the little gold spur some time. 

I saw Kennedy examining the automatic he had 
picked up. Inger was looking at it, too. Then it 
occurred to me that the gun Inger had thrown in 
the lake and we had fished out was not an automatic. 
And Hawtrey had been killed by an automatic. 

Just a few more stray words from Dorothy on the 
bed. 

I saw now. Dorothy had rented the room in the 
rooming house up the street, had crossed the roofs 
that night in disguise. Dorothy was ‘^the blonde 
in black'^ who had recovered the gun from its hiding 
place under the matting in the hole in the floor of 
the closet in Hawtrey’s house, where she had hidden 
it. 

Dorothy was also the ^Voman in white,’’ the 
ghostly visitor to Natalie’s apartment. She had 
known of the Carfax claim to the treasure, his share, 
his fifth. In her bitterness against her husband, 
she had sought to get the pirate paper, the map, 
from Natalie. Later, when Gaunt had told her, out 
at his dance, that he purposed extorting from Car- 
fax his fifth, she had secretly gloated. 

^‘Walter! ” The voice was faint. The doctor looked 
at me significantly. I bent closer. ^‘No sorrow 
equal to one I have been carrying since Guy’s 
death . . . Remorse . . . Lonesomeness. . . Desire. 
. . .” She tried to raise herself. shot the man 
I would have died for! ...” Then she sank back. 
‘T want to see him. ... I can’t . . . wait . . . much 
.. . longer. .. . Guy! . .. Guy!” Then with another 
weak, wild cry, almost inarticulate, the muscles of 


ATAVAR 


347 


her pain-wracked body contracted violently. Her 
eyes were now unseeing. Her lips moved silently 
as she relaxed, framing the name, ‘"Guy!” Her head 
fell off the supporting pillow. 

Who of us could judge her? Dorothy had paid. 

Craig slipped the automatic in his pocket. It was 
an automatic with which Dorothy had killed Haw- 
trey. She had died with the arms of Hawtrey’s 
coat about her slain by the same gun with which 
she had slain her lover. . . . 

Down at the desk again, Craig obtained the Leslie 
cable to him at last. It was a long one. Leslie had 
used the scientific third degree with Craig’s sphyg¬ 
momanometer, after the manner that Craig had 
suggested in the laboratory. Kennedy had already 
guessed it. Haupt, the taxi driver, had broken down 
and confessed. 

It was Gaunt, not Carfax or Roger, that Haupt 
had driven to the Hawtrey house that night. It told 
also of Gaunt going in with Hawtrey, carrying a bot¬ 
tle wrapped up in a newspaper, returning with a 
bottle wrapped up the same. 

Gaunt had paid Haupt one thousand dollars to 
keep quiet. He had promised him ten thousand if 
Haupt were ever located and would swear that it 
was Carfax he drove. But Gaunt had skipped. 
Haupt had seen Justus James, the Gaunt lawyer. 
But the lawyer had been cold. Haupt was afraid 
Gaunt would never pay the ten thousand. Scared, 
he had betrayed the whole truth to Kennedy’s scien¬ 
tific lie detector. 

Kennedy did not dwell long on this message. 
Here was another problem closer to us. Carfax had 
intercepted this message of Leslie to Craig. And 


/ 


348 


ATAVAR 


Carfax was in a boiling rage with Gaunt. The clerk 
had made good to a degree. He had a report that 
Carfax was at last located in Gould Town, that 
Gaunt had also learned the contents of the message 
from Carfax and had fled to his yacht. Roger was 
frantic. 

'‘Why,'^ he fumed, ‘^he can easily get away. The 
Bacchante is the fastest thing around here—except 
the Nomad, Come . . . let’s get busyl’^ 

''Not the fastest,” smiled Kennedy. "I’ve got the 
fastest craft in the islands ... if we can separate 
Mackay from Fay. . ► . Get him,, Walter*. The 
storm is subsiding. We must go, regulator or no 
regulator.” 

So in the slackening rain we rose, Roger in the 
place Dorothy had occupied on the flight over. As 
we climbed Roger had eyes like a hawk. 

"There’s the Bacchante,'' he exclaimed. "We’re 
in time. She hasn’t got off yet!” 

Nor was she likely to get off. Expecting a fight, 
we came up to the yacht. Instead, we found that 
Carfax had been out there before anyone, had 
wrecked the engines of the Bacchante, then, with 
pure devilishness, had hunted up Gaunt in Gould 
Town, had showed him the telegram, revenged him¬ 
self by letting him flee out to his yacht. 

Gaunt had left the useless yacht in a small boat. 

"Where’s he gone?” I asked as I sat again in the 
air boat. 

"Natalie!” exclaimed Roger, impatiently. 
"Where’s Natalie?” 

Kennedy had been going over with Roger a de¬ 
tailed account of his search for her. 


ATAVAR 349 

‘‘What about that cave, Roger?” he asked. “Have 
you forgotten the cave?” 

“The cave?” he repeated. “Why the cave? 
There’s nothing-” 

“You went there once with her, on a picnic, 
fought, almost, with Hawtrey to be included in the 
party,” interrupted Craig. 

Roger saw it instantly. “Why, the cave, of 
course!” He was now as anxious to be off as he had 
been doubtful before. It seemed as if he must be 
doing something, to hold himself down. As for me, 
I was still not convinced. Would we find Natalie in 
the cave? Was it another wild-goose chase? Be¬ 
sides, what of Gaunt? He was the big quarry of 
Kennedy’s chase. 

We rose gracefully from the water. The regu¬ 
lator was behaving no worse than could be expected. 
There was one thing about Kennedy’s air boat and 
MacKay’s handling of her. She was quick. It was 
the next best thing to being in two places at once. 

Roger directed us and it was riding on the heels 
of the departing storm that we settled down again 
on the water of the cove, taxied along as near as the 
depth would permit to the opening in the rocks that 
Roger indicated. I thought. So this was the cave of 
the pirates. I had been fascinated by the idea for 
some time. Now I was to see it. 

The engine was still droning when suddenly from 
the mouth of the cavern seemed to come a shriek, a 
piercing shriek. 

“Roger! Roger! Roger! . . . Help!” 

I looked at Roger. Did my ears deceive me? 
Was I hearing things? 

Roger did not stop to say a word. He climbed out 


350 


ATAVAR 


over the water, poised a second, then leaped. It was 
only breast high. I listened again. But there was 
nothing more. Craig and I followed him, breasting 
the calming waves. 

As we waded in between the rocky jaws of the 
entrance, our eyes could barely distinguish in the 
darkness the figure of a man. He was bending over 
the limp form of a girl in his arms, kissing her 
viciously, I thought. I strained my eyes to become 
accustomed to the half light. It was Gaunt! 
Natalie! 

Gaunt heard us. He turned, dropped Natalie in 
a lifeless heap on the sand, squared himself to 
meet us. 

I felt a shove as Roger strode past me. ‘‘Let me 
handle this, fellows!'' he growled out through 
gritted teeth. “It is my right!" 

A moment Roger and Gaunt faced each other, 
two wrestling demons. Roger closed. They strained. 
Roger was a very fiend for strength. The scissors 
. . . and Gaunt was down. Roger was grinding his 
face in the sand with one hand, while the other was 
with iron grip on his throat. 

Craig dropped down, after a hasty look at uncon¬ 
scious Natalie, down by the side of the wrestlers. 
From his pocket he had pulled his own tightening 
handcuffs. He slipped one bracelet over Gaunt's 
wrist, then muttered something to Roger. Roger 
released him with a final vicious grip, flung him 
over, as a contemptuous giant might a puny oppo¬ 
nent unworthy of his strength. Craig clapped the 
other bracelet on the other wrist of the half-stunned 
man as Roger bent over Natalie, bathing her face 


ATAVAR 351 

and wrists with sea water, fanning her, smoothing 
back her hair, calling her name. 

'^So, Gaunt,” shot out Craig as he dragged the 
man to a sitting posture and flashed before him the 
cablegram, saw this message about Haupt, eh?” 

With his manacled hands Gaunt tried to claw at 
his bruised throat, as if Roger’s grip had stuck the 
words in there that he would loosen. 

Kennedy did not give him a chance. “Do you 
want me to tell you what happened, that night of 
Hawtrey’s murder, his poisoning? Listen. Outside 
the Gilded Lily, you had missed Natalie; you took a 
cab. You found out finally that they were at the 
Pirates’ Cave down near the village. You deter¬ 
mined to stop Hawtrey if he took Natalie up to 
the town house. You determined more—^to stop 
Hawtrey once and for all, for all time. 

“But Natalie got away from him on the trip 
uptown from the Cave. Your driver lost Hawtrey, 
picked him up again at his house, paying his 
man. You got out, confronted Hawtrey. Hawtrey 
laughed, said to you: ^Come in, man. We can 
settle this thing over a drink.’ ” 

It was a study to watch Gaunt’s face as Kennedy 
thus rapidly reconstructed what had happened the 
fatal night. 

“Gaunt, you had a bottle of gin. You had stopped 
to get it, at your place. It was wrapped up in a 
paper. You went in. There is one thing you did 
not know. Dorothy Carfax was in that house!” 

Gaunt stiffened as Craig shot it opt. It was evi¬ 
dent that he had not known. 

“Dorothy did not appear, of course, with you 
there. You already had her Hawtrey letters. 


352 


ATAVAR 


Hawtrey was tired. He poured himself a drink, 
excused himself to get out of his evening clothes and 
into a dressing gown. This drink was his own good 
liquor. Dorothy was hiding then. It was your 
chance, which you did not even have to manufac¬ 
ture. You switched bottles, put your own, the 
poisoned liquor, in place of that of Hawtrey. Later 
you took out, wrapped up, the Hawtrey bottle when 
you went, as if it had been the one you brought in! 

Gaunt^s eyes were bulging under Kennedy’s words 
as they had under Roger’s throtthng. 

‘There were hot words, taunts from Hawtrey, 
threats from you. You left. ... It was then that 
Dorothy came out. No need to tell you of Haw- 
trey’s surprise, his scorn, the passion of Dorothy,— 
the shot! You, Gaunt, poisoned a man! Gaunt, 
the love pirate, killed Hawtrey, dealer in hearts, for 
Natalie Lisle! Can you imagine that story as only 
Jameson can handle it in the Start” 

Gaunt had been sitting silent. A feeble attempt 
at a supercilious smile appeared on his face. He 
made as if to speak. But Kennedy would not allow 
it. “There is the Javary case on your bloody hands, 
too, Gaunt,” he shot out. “But the big case will be 
that you. Gaunt, did not know that Dorothy would 
shoot Hawtrey, that Dorothy did not know that you 
had poisoned him. . . . But each of you here to¬ 
day in Sea Isle has known that the game was up— 
Dorothy because of a confession by Inger, you, 
Gaunt, because of the confession of this taxi driver 
which completes my chain of evidence like a noose 
around your miserable neck!” 

“Roger!” 

I turned. The first thing Natalie saw clearly with 


ATAVAR 353 

returning consciousness was a pair of earnest brown 
eyes looking anxiously into hers. 

^^Somehow—I knew you would come to me!’’ 

^^Yes, Natalie, this time to stay always—to shield 
you, love you, to make those little feet always like 
dancing!” 

'‘It’s so good to be with you again—Roger! I 
felt so lonesome. . . . But, dear, I could have 
done nothing else . . . Could I?” Her voice was 
tremulous. 

A kiss was her answer. 

Then she heard Craig’s voice. "All right, 
Natalie?” 

She looked at him. He was tightening the hand¬ 
cuffs about the wrists of Gaunt to take the last 
vestige of fight from him. Rising, he came over 
and looked at her gently, kindly. 

What a friend he had been to Roger and her! 
"I’m all right now,” she smiled. "Roger is with 
me.” She dropped her eyes as she caught the light 
in Roger’s. 

"Well, Natalie,” smiled Craig, "Roger’s love tap 
pretty nearly put Gaunt out. The bracelets will 
keep him quiet now, though. You people had better 
decide what you are going to do. We’ve an air¬ 
plane and,” looking about, "two boats, one with a 
kicker.” 

"I know what I want to do, Craig,” spoke up 
Roger. "I want to get hold of that very broad 
church rector—the one just outside Gould Town. 
Will you go with me, Natalie?” 

"This way?” She laughed, looked down at her¬ 
self, aghast at the idea. 

"Well,” urged Roger, "go to the Nomad first, get 


354 


ATAVAR 


the clothes you had on last night—or to the 
Bacchante for your other things/^ 

“There's a little sentiment about what I was 
wearing last night, Roger, when you came and 
took me." 

“Mackay will take you to the yacht, then to your 
rector in the air boat," nodded Craig. “We’ll take 
Gaunt to the fort in his own skiff with the kicker." 

Gaunt was swearing under his breath. A twist of 
the bracelets by Craig silenced him. 

Roger lifted Natalie in his strong arms, waded out 
to the plane, lifted her up in the boat, then climbed 
in himself. MacKay spun the propeller. It droned 
a quick staccato. They turned, were off over the 
water in a lacy spray, as the sun burst through the 
scudding clouds over the calming waters and the 
returning gentle breezes after the storm. 

Craig was taking every precaution that Gaunt 
should not get away. I pulled the boat out to the 
mouth of the cavern as Craig twisted Gaunt’s hand 
so that there was no choice but to do as he was bid. 
He stepped into the boat, sat crouched in the stern, 
a picture of baffled passion, twisted thinking, a 
caught criminal. 

“Look, Walter!" Craig called, pointing with his 
free arm. 

The plane had risen from the water, was soaring 
now into the sunlight—somehow it made me think 
of Astarte and Baal in the spectacle—carrying two 
young souls to happiness. 


Epilogue 






EPILOGUE 


RECESSIVE LOVE 

‘There^s a boat, to-morrow,’’ remarked Craig. 

“Going back to the States so soon?” I asked. 

“Yes.” He paused several moments, a bit wearily^ 
I thought. “Yes. I shall miss Natalie, too—the 
thinking ahead for her, protecting her, but-” 

He hesitated, lapsed into silence. What did that 
broken sentence signify? 

I was quiet, too. I left my chair and looked out 
over the water. I was selfish enough to think I 
still had my friend. That at least filled me with a 
warm glow of satisfaction. 

What tragic events had taken place, what happi¬ 
ness had come to others, since the last time we sat 
on this same terrace! 

“One of your most important cases, Craig,” I 
observed. “Do you recall what I said that night 
down here when we first saw Natalie? I was right! 
There are the seeds of tragedy in the life of a girl 
who can stir the passions of men like that’!” 

The lights of the hotel were gleaming just as 
brilliantly, the music at the ball sounded just as 
sweetly, the booming of the breakers below us was 
just as entrancing, the moon shone just as brightly. 
But Natalie had gone. 

We had been back only a short time from the 
357 


358 


ATAVAR 


Nomad, Roger had sent us back in his speedy 
tender. Now he and Natalie were off on a honey¬ 
moon. That was w^hy we waited on the terrace. 
We had watched the yacht slip away until she was 
only a speck in the fading light on the horizon. 

At Craig^s little wedding supper in a quiet corner 
of the New Royal grill, Inger had come with tears 
to tell Natalie that she withdrew her contest of the 
will and would so instruct the lawyer, Justus James. 
The Hawtrey will would then be incontestably in 
favor of Natahe. 

‘‘But^—^what shall I do with the money?” Natalie 
did not appear greatly interested. 

^‘Endow a theater,” put in Roger, quickly. ‘^Show 
these reformers-” 

“My reforming Roger!” laughed Natalie, inter¬ 
rupting, but with a respect for him in the banter. 
“Just the thing! Reform the reformers!” 

“And you will play in the picture?” I asked. 

“Yes. . . 

“What of the treasure?” inquired Craig, with a 
mischievous twinkle. 

“The treasure is there, all right, and I will get it, 
some day—but-” 

“But what?” 

“IVe found the greatest treasure already—love^— 
and my place in this world”—looking at Craig— 
“where the weight of civilization shall not crush 
me!” 

Now on the terrace I was thinking back. So, 
Gerard—“Dag,” grandson of Hugh, descendant of 
the “Hanging Gerard,” had won Natalie—“Gel,” 
granddaughter of Douglas Lisle—descendant of 
pirate governor and pirates. 


ATAVAR 


359 


‘‘Yes/^ agreed Craig when I spoke of it, ''romance 
repeats itself, like history. Love is eternal. Every 
individual in his birth, in his life, in his love, in his 
death epitomizes the heart history of the human 
race. . . . Millions of lives of ancestors are back of 
each of us. The beautiful part of it is that we are 
the product of the survivors in the struggle of 
hearts. ... 

"Whatever the veneer of modern society—femin¬ 
ism or flapperism—girls are the same underneath. 
The man and the maid have not changed. . . . 
Love is—recessive!’’ 

That evening we had lodged Gaunt in the jail on 
the very site of the old fort at Gould Town where 
over two hundred years ago his ancestor would have 
been executed, hanged on the ramparts by the neck 
until dead, if His Majesty’s officers had ever been 
able to lay hands on him. Hawtrey was already 
dead, and, while Gaunt awaited extradition, I 
thought also of Carfax, a virtual fugitive on the 
face of the earth, a social pariah, a man without a 
country. He had done quite as his ancestor, the 
Pious Pirate, who scuttled the galleon. He had 
wrecked the engines of Gaunt’s Bacchante. He got 
off; yet society would visit on him expiation of sin. 

Craig rose, too, now. "We might as well do it all, 
Walter] Let’s take the walk we took that first 
night.” Over his face hovered a whimsical smile as 
I joined him. 

As we neared the steps leading to the beach I 
heard another voice—this time a girl’s. It was Fay. 
The laugh was that of MacKay, our aviator. 

"Ah, Fay, they were the happiest things! Let me 
take you there to-morrow. That rector is a regular 


360 


ATAVAR 


guy. Don^t go back north and leave me. I know 
when I'm hit hard. You got me right. I fell for 
you the minute I saw you!" 

There was a murmur. I gathered it was consent. 

Then I looked at Craig, who had stopped. ‘^A 
couple of high flyers!" I punned. 

But Craig’s face was serious. ^Tay will be all 
right, Walter. Give her a chance to begin a new 
life." 

He need not have cautioned me. Hardened news¬ 
paperman that I was, I still stirred at romance. It 
was not all “copy." 

“None of us are perfect," went on Craig, admon¬ 
ishing. “Burns might have said it this way, ‘A 
woman’s a woman for a’ that!’ " 

We left them undisturbed. I think both of us 
felt a weight lifted from us. Fay at least would be 
cared for by MacKay. 

We retraced our steps. I poked about with a 
stick I had picked up on the walk down to the 
beach. Some one had dropped it. 

Suddenly a hiss. I had disturbed a snake. Out 
from the low shrubbery before us it darted. 

Craig seized the stick. With a few swift, well- 
aimed blows the snake was dead. 

“There—this will be the Garden of Eden now. 
The serpent is gone!" 

“But I can’t stay. Serpents are what make life 
interesting—to me—^Walter. The serpent is dead." 

“Long live the serpent!" I laughed. 


THE END 
















































































